


Blood and Other Drugs

by WilmaKins



Series: Blood And Other Drugs [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Deepthroating, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Abuse, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve and Bucky are friends with benefits, Steve and Tony are the endgame here, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Top Steve Rogers, Top Tony Stark, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampire Tony Stark, dealing with previous body modification, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 175,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: Tony Stark disappeared from public life twenty years ago. He exists as a name without a face, the anonymous director of the Avengers and the inventor of the worlds best tech - all done from the workshop that he never leaves. Or so they say.Steve isn't interested in the rumours. He doesn't care why Stark hid himself away. He *only* wants to meet with Stark so that he can get Bucky's arm fixed.Well, until he meets Tony Stark. Then maybe he cares...Vampire!Tony Stark AU. Tags to be updated as the fic is written.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Blood And Other Drugs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960249
Comments: 836
Kudos: 874
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, alphabet's marvel favorites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betheflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/gifts).



> This work is being written for Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, for the amazing betheflame - who not only provided the prompt, but who is also being kind enough to Beta. I have all the love. 
> 
> Also, fair warnings - this fic includes some background Steve/Bucky, but it's very much a friendship with a casual sexual element and NOT a true love/romance thing. This is very much a Steve and Tony story. If you would like further details, please just message me. There are also passing references to Bucky/Nat and Bucky/Sam, but those are just causal remarks without detail. 
> 
> I don't think there are any major triggers or issues that aren't already tagged, but please be aware that this is still being written, and tags will be updated.

Steve was thinking, idly, of the most horrible ways a person could die…

He was sitting in the breakroom, uncomfortably upright on one of the couches. Still wearing his fire damaged uniform, little flecks of soot falling from his hair every time he ran his hands through it. Really, he would have liked to have a shower, changed into more comfortable clothes – gone straight down to the gym and put all of his post mission adrenaline into a couple of punching bags.

But, apparently, an opportunity had presented itself – and Steve couldn’t risk missing it.

As soon as he found out who Nick was meeting with, Steve made straight for the second floor and staked out the seat directly opposite the elevator.

And he’d waited.

And waited.

And, in that time, he’d had nothing to do but rehash this latest mission. Everything that had gone wrong. Everything that _ could _ have gone wrong.

All the ways it might be worse, next time.

Steve pictured it again. The look of panic in Bucky’s eyes, as his arm seized up. The sharp cry as the pain shot through his body, so powerful that he dropped to his knees.

In the middle of a firefight.

_ He could be in pain like that for the rest of his life _

_ He could end up getting killed _

_ We all could all end up getting killed… _

And what really irritated Steve was that things were getting  _ worse _ . 

It hadn’t been painful like that the last time Bucky’s arm seized – before Dr Stape fucked about with it. And it hadn’t seized up _ at all  _ before Dr Niko fucked about it with it. And the involuntary movements that Dr Niko had been treating were still as bad as they’d ever been…

A shadow fell over him, pulling him out of his increasingly angry thoughts.

“Hey.” Steve managed a little smile when he saw Natasha. She looked him over, analysing the fact that he hadn’t changed yet. Then she glanced at the elevator.

“He’s not going to see you, you know,” she sighed.

“Thanks for that,” Steve deadpanned, and she softened slightly.

“I’m just saying, you might as well go and have a shower… get that looked at, maybe.” She gestured to a dark bloodstain, the size of a coaster, on his shoulder. Steve shook his head dismissively. It had healed already.

“I can do that later.”

“Look, Steve… I know how much it means to you, getting Bucky’s arm fixed…” She began carefully, walking over to sit beside him on the couch. “And I know there aren’t a lot of good solutions… And I know you. I know that means you’re about to go  _ all in _ on this plan. Once you’ve decided that something  _ has _ to work-”

“I just want to ask the question,” Steve interrupted, in an appeasing tone.

“Yeah, and when he says no, you’ll ask again.” Nat sighed. “And then you’ll try again. And again. And, the thing is Steve, if I thought you had even the slightest chance of getting anywhere with this, I’d say go for it…” She trailed off into a pause, like she was trying to think of how to phrase something. And then she shook her head. And then she smiled. “I already know there’s no point trying to talk you out of it. I just… don’t want to see you get your hopes up, I guess.”

Steve smiled more genuinely at that. He knew she meant well. He knew that Nat cared about him, that she cared about Bucky, that she always had his back. That meant a lot. And, of course, she was right- 

There was no point trying to talk him out of this.

“It’s not Tony Stark I’m waiting for,” he told her, with a knowing smile. “It’s Pepper Potts.”

“No need to be pedantic” Nat answered, sardonically.

And then the elevator binged.

Steve was on his feet immediately. He cast an apologetic glance at Nat – who had already surrendered. She waved him on,  _ go, go _ …

Pepper looked directly at Steve, the moment the doors slid open. As confident and in control as she would have been walking into a board room. Steve smiled.

He already felt like he knew her.

He’d spent the last three weeks watching every interview she’d ever given, reading every personal profile and analysing every business report with her name on it, in anticipation of an opportunity like this.

Because Steve wasn’t being pedantic. He  _ wasn’t _ here to give Pepper a message for Tony Stark. He really had been waiting for half an hour to speak to  _ her. _

Steve already knew that Tony Stark wouldn’t listen to him. Tony Stark had ignored invitations from royalty and subpoenas from Congress and personal appeals from the President of the United States. Thousands of people had written him letters, and called him out in the press, and even given Pepper messages to pass on. Stark hadn’t listened to any of them-

But he listened to  _ her. _

Pepper Potts had been the public face of Stark Industries for nearly twenty years. She was one of only two people who’d actually seen Stark in person in all that time, and she was the person who spoke for him in press conferences and represented him at business meetings and delivered the tech that he designed. All evidence pointed to the fact that Stark trusted her.

And Steve thought there was a chance that  _ Pepper _ would listen to him. At least there  _ were _ interviews he could watch and profiles he could read, to give him a clue how to play this… At least he could speak to her in person, try to read her reaction and hopefully let her see how important this was.

And if he could convince Pepper, maybe  _ she _ could convince Tony Stark…

Well, he had to try.

“Captain Rogers,” she smiled warmly, extending a hand. “Nick said you wanted to speak to me before I left?”

“Yes, thank you – I know how busy you are.” Steve got straight to the point -he got the impression she preferred things that way. “You probably already know about the issues Bucky’s had with his arm. All the people we already talked to.”

And Pepper nodded – well, obviously she already knew about it. Tony Stark had been involved with the Avengers since the beginning, and after the fall of SHIELD it was only Stark’s money and tech that kept the team going. He was their main contributor and only external ‘director’ – although, obviously, he performed that role from a distance. Tony Stark had never spoken to any of them directly. He’d never tried to interfere with the work they did. But Steve knew, all the bills and all the mission reports and all the inventories went to him. Via Pepper.

So, Steve could probably skip the background details. Good.

“Well, so far none of it has helped,” Steve sighed, sadly. “In fact, mostly, it’s made everything much worse. He’s in  _ pain _ now, and sometimes… Today, there was a malfunction, and it just knocked him clear off his feet. It’s a miracle he didn’t get shot right then, or that Nat didn’t get shot going in to cover him, or…” Steve caught himself before he could spiral into all his fears and worries. Tried to recentre on what little insight he had about Pepper.

She was smart, and not weighed down by her own ego, and not one to suffer fools, sycophants, or manipulators. Watching her TV interviews had told him that much. That, and that she was pretty co-operative, when people were reasonable and honest and upfront…

“What you, and Stark Industries and Mr Stark, do for the Avengers is incredible, and I know we have no right to ask for anything else.” Steve started, simply. “But this isn’t me asking for a favour. This is just me explaining the situation as it is, to someone who I know cares about what happens. I know that you put as much into the Avengers as he does. So, I guess you need to know as much as anyone… This is a really bad situation.”

“So, what do you think I can do to help?” Pepper asked outright. Of course she did.

“I’m pretty sure that Tony Stark is the only person who might actually be able to  _ fix _ this thing.” Steve tried to be forthright in his answer.

Suddenly, he felt… nervous. A perfectly human anxiety, for a conversation he just  _ really _ wanted to go well – with someone much better at this stuff than he was. He remembered this feeling, from when he was much smaller. If Bucky were here, he’d be pulling faces behind Peppers back. Either trying in vain to help Steve out, or deliberately trying to wind him up, depending on the circumstances.

And it was remembering his  _ friend _ , rather than his duty as an Avenger, that pushed Steve on with this.

“The equipment that we get from Stark Industries is  _ different _ from everything else out there.” He breathed, “Not just better. The weapons he sends aren’t just better weapons – they’re  _ safer _ and more comfortable and better from the environment, and... And it’s more than him just thinking of everything. It’s the fact that he sees it as a whole. The fact that he thinks about  _ who  _ is going to be using it, and where and why. And – you know that rumour, that Tony Stark died years ago, and all this tech is really designed by a whole committee of geniuses, and they’re just using his name?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one,” Pepper answered with an easy laugh.

“Well, I always knew that wasn’t true, because I’ve seen committees at work – I’ve seen whole committees trying to fix this thing for Bucky, and they don’t come up with something as coherent as this.” Steve gestured to the communicator on his wrist, as the most available example of Stark Tech. “I know something like this has to be designed by one person. One person who can think about everything…”

Steve made himself stop there. He knew he’d gotten slightly flustered, and deviated from his script a bit… He was babbling. Straying dangerously close to fawning. He took another little breath, and tried to bring it all together in a stronger finish.

“It’s my job to run this team, and this team is here to keep the world safe – I’m supposed to do everything I can think of, to make that happen.” He told her seriously “And, honestly, the only thing I can think of is asking Tony Stark.”

And Pepper breathed a patient smile…a sad sort of softness around her eyes, now-

_ Like an apology _ .

Steve felt his heart drop. He was reading this conversation the same way he would an interrogation, or an undercover operation – and he could see it wasn’t going well.

“Well, I can pass the message on, of course.” Pepper told him, pleasantly. “I assume that the details are all stored on the central server?”

“I think so, ma’am,” Steve nodded, automatically. “I’ll make sure they are.”

“I’ll ask him to have a look, see what he thinks.” Pepper assured him, in what was clearly meant to be a concluding remark, but Steve was ready to grab for  _ anything _ to keep this conversation going.

“I know he doesn’t see people,” he said softly. “And I’m not going to say I understand that – because I know that… other people just  _ don’t _ understand some things…”

And there was a little spark behind her eyes. Intrigued, maybe.  _ Interested _ .

“…I was born in 1918, I’m the living result of a military experiment” Steve carried on, cautiously. “I have baggage that I couldn’t even describe to you. And Bucky has… things he doesn’t have to explain to anyone. So, I’m not going to be asking for an explanation, is what I’m saying. I don’t think I’m owed one. I’m not going to question whatever help he can offer…I’m not going to question  _ anything _ ”

He wasn’t entirely sure what about this was working… But it was. He saw the way her gaze focused on him, a genuine engagement pushing through the polite professionalism.

“You care about him, don’t you?” She asked, in a different voice entirely. “Bucky.”

“Yes, of course” Steve answered quickly and she smiled.

“That’s what this is really about.”

Steve dropped his shoulders. He knew that she already knew the answer.

“Honestly, yeah, that’s why this keeps me up at night,” he admitted and was relieved when she just carried on smiling at him.“But that doesn’t mean any of that other stuff isn’t true. And I know my fears for my friend aren’t your concern – I wouldn’t be asking you, if it was only that.”

…Okay, he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. But he  _ was _ sure that-

“This is more than that. I really think it  _ does _ concern Stark Industries – at least, if the Avengers do.”

Pepper just looked at him for a moment… and Steve had lost all track of what she might be thinking. Whether her thoughtful frown meant that she was considering it, or just baffled by this awkward pitch, Steve couldn’t quite tell.

“But he’s your friend?” She asked, suddenly “Not a partner?”

Steve was briefly taken aback by the question – but only because it had come from nowhere.

“No, it’s not like  _ that _ ,” he assured, easily – even though he knew, if he tried to actually explain his relationship with Bucky, it wouldn’t seem nearly that simple. That was just one of those things other people wouldn’t understand. And other people didn’t have to understand it.  _ Steve _ knew what Pepper was really asking, and from his point of view, the answer was easy. “He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m not  _ in _ love with him – but I do love him. He’d been my  _ best _ friend, since before any of this happened to either of us. So, yeah, I’d go as far for him as I would a partner...” Steve trailed off, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

She was just…  _ looking _ at him, again.

And then, just as Steve was scrabbling to think of yet another avenue of conversation, she nodded at him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she told him, warmly.

And Steve felt a sudden surge of relief, because he just  _ knew _ – that was different to ‘I’ll pass the message on’.

“Thank you.” He smiled.

*

Tony was  _ just _ about to say what a good day it’d been.

He’d actually gone to bed last night – and not just because he’d concussed himself, or because he’d been promising to go to bed since the night before. No, he’d actually woken up after a good night’s sleep, and spent the whole day making breakthroughs on his latest project. And then Pepper had arrived, with a bottle of wine and a lot of positive reports about the company and the Avengers... 

And Tony was  _ just _ about to tell her that he was in a good mood for once-

And then she dropped the bombshell.

“I really think you need to look at Barnes’ arm yourself.”

Tony snapped to attention, his brow creased in incredulity. He could tell from her tone that she was serious.

“Why, has it fallen off?” Tony asked, acerbically. Pepper softened her shoulders, and took a step forward-

She was  _ really _ serious about this, then – otherwise she’d have just rolled her eyes at that.

“Well, I haven’t given you the final Avengers report for the day,” she explained, her tone full of something he couldn’t quite place.“Yesterday’s mission… did not go well.”

“The people trafficking thing in Russia?” Tony frowned, momentarily distracted from his outrage. That should’ve been a totally by the books operation. The only reason he hadn’t asked about it was that he naturally assumed it’d been a walk over… “How did  _ that _ go wrong?”

“Barnes’ arm seized up,” Pepper answered, as though it should’ve been obvious. “The details are in the latest mission report. And all the details of his treatment so far are stored on the central server.” She was speaking in that lilting, uplifted way she did when she was building to something, gesturing to the general area where Tony’s holograms usually appeared.

Tony brought the details up somewhere else entirely, just to be petty. He gave Pepper an unimpressed glare, before he turned his attention to the mission reports…

And then the glare melted into a thoughtful look… and then a concerned frown…

“It’s bad then?” Pepper prompted, after a few minutes.

“It’s… a mess.” Tony sighed. He’d moved on to Bucky’s recent scans by then, flicking between them as he tried to make sense of what the latest doctor had done. “I thought the last guy was a leading neurologist?”

“You understood his work better than I did.” Pepper reminded him – but Tony wasn’t really talking to her.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to understand how this technology interacts with the central nervous system,” he carried on, just thinking out loud, as he scrolled back through the last few medical reports. “…Jesus, this is just… Fuck up after fuck up…”

“Well, Captain Rogers has apparently searched through every expert on earth, to come up with that list of fuck ups…” Pepper commented, in that same lilting tone-

And Tony remembered the  _ ludicrous  _ statement that had started this conversation in the first place.

“Well, maybe I can do better than Captain Rogers.” He told her in a cold, level voice. “If you need me to find an  _ actual  _ expert, I’m sure I know what to look for more than he does.”

“And can you think of anyone who might be able to sort this mess out?” Pepper gestured to the hologram again.

“…Not off of the top of my head, no” Tony admitted – because, worryingly, all names he would have suggested were people that Rogers had already tried…

“Don’t you think that person would come to mind immediately?” Pepper asked. “If there  _ was _ someone out there who could make sense of this…  _ mess _ ?”

Tony looked back over the array of scans… the slow progression from bad to worse…

He tried to think of  _ any _ neurologist, engineer, bio-engineer or medical expert that wasn’t already on Steve Rogers list…

And realised that this job would require a little bit from each of those fields…

And probably someone who understood  _ military _ technology… through the years…

And the philosophy of Artificial Intelligence, and Artificial Organics…

…Fuck,  _ did _ it have to be him?

There was a sudden stab of panic in his chest then, as he  _ really _ considered what Pepper was asking him to do. He literally flinched away from it. And then he felt that fear heat into irritation – if he’d been talking to anyone else, he’d have called it anger.

“Look, no offence Pep, but it isn’t my mess,” Tony explained, trying so hard to stay calm that he sounded anything but. And then gestured to the workshop with a wide arc of his hand, from the pile of jagged scrap metal in the left-hand corner, to the stack of blood stained coffee mugs in the sink. He kept pointing at them, as he carried on, “ _ This _ is my mess. Trying to do  _ something _ positive, without being outed as a monster, and having everything I’ve ever built come crashing down.”

Her eyes softened in such genuine sympathy when he called himself a monster. It helped take the sharp edge of his frustration – but it didn’t make him feel any better about himself. It never had.

“You really think the world will come crashing down if you let Captain America and Bucky Barnes come to the workshop one time?” She asked him, gently.

“Why would Steve Rogers be coming with him?” Tony asked, quickly, and Pepper answered just as quickly.

“I assumed you’d insist.”

Tony frowned in confusion, trying to work out why the hell she’d think that – and then he remembered that he didn’t even  _ discuss _ people coming to the workshop. Ever. They weren’t even having this conversation.

“Well, I don’t insist. In fact, you know what, I insist that they  _ not _ come here. Either of them,” he asserted. “I’ll look at the plans, I’ll try and think of someone better to do the work, I’ll send that person step by step instructions if I have to-”

“And when that doesn’t work?” She asked him, seriously.

That irritation flashed up again.

No, scratch that – this time it  _ was _ anger.

“JARVIS, what year is it?” Tony announced, sarcastically.

“2012, sir,” came the polite reply.

“Oh, just checking that I hadn’t accidently gone back in time, what, five years? It must be at least five years, since you said –  _ again _ – that we’d had this conversation for the last time.” He reminded her, snippily.

And Tony had to stop himself. He had to take a moment to calm himself, to push past that sudden burst of emotion before he carried on.

He always wondered, at times like these, what biological process was he trying to quell. What caused these familiar symptoms, now that his heart couldn’t skip a beat and he couldn’t possibly be struggling for breath…

Why did he still  _ take _ a deep breath, when he wanted to push through these moments?

“I’m sorry,” he started again. “I really am. I’d help Bucky if I could – I’d help everyone if I could. But I can’t help  _ everyone _ . If I let Bucky in, then why not all the other people with doctors less qualified than me? And if I let everyone in, how long do you think it’ll be before the whole world knows I’m a vampire? Would you like to take a guess at what happens to the stock price if that comes out? And what happens to the Avengers if the company folds – or, hell, what happens to the Avengers if it comes out that their director is a fucking  _ vampire _ ? They get enough shit from everyone just for saving the world. Or what happens to you, or to Rhodey, when all the people that hate me realise that I have a lot of weaknesses they hadn’t thought of. Like, you know, sunlight-”

“You’re rambling.” Pepper informed him, kindly.

“Yeah, well, there are a  _ lot _ of reasons why this is a bad idea” Tony shot back.

“Do you really think either Sargent Barnes or Captain America would  _ out you _ as a vampire, even if they did find out?” Pepper asked. “Although, why you think they’d find that out, just because they came to the workshop once-”

“What makes you think they  _ wouldn’t _ ?” Tony challenged.

“Because I’ve met Steve Rogers,” Pepper answered breezily.

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Okay, you’ve met him, and he’s made you feel sorry for him, and his friend. Fine,” Tony sighed. “I get it, I vaguely remember that – some people are sympathetic when you talk to them… But that’s just not a good enough reason, Pep. I can’t risk  _ everything _ because Steve Rogers is a good salesman. Sorry. No.”

And Pepper exhaled slowly, and gave a sad little nod – and Tony dared to think that was the end of it.

“He’s very attractive, you know,” Pepper commented nonchalantly. 

“Yes, I know,” Tony groaned. “I don’t have to invite the guy to the workshop to appreciate that – he’s on TV literally all the time. Just like a thousand other attractive people.”

_ Honestly _ – as if Tony was going to take back everything he’d just said, just because the guy was pretty. Pepper should give him more credit. Tony really thought she knew him better than to say  _ any _ of this-

“Oh, he’s really not,” Pepper muttered, almost to herself.

…Okay, Pepper knew him better than anyone.

Because _Tony_ didn’t even know what nerve she’d just touched. Whether that seemingly off-hand remark had inspired a spike of jealousy, or curiosity, or an insecurity at being left out of a secret… maybe something else entirely. Something that – belatedly – led him to wonder why she _was_ bringing this up for the first time in at least five years. What made this thing so special…? Suddenly, there was a tension in his body, and an obvious edge on his voice when he asked,

“He’s really not what?”

“He’s really not like a thousand other people on television,” Pepper answered casually. “And, actually, you  _ don’t _ really know what he looks like, because he doesn’t really look like his photographs… You know how some people are just like that?” And she looked at him, faux innocent, for an answer.

And, irritated though he was in that moment, Tony almost smiled at her. Part of him had to give her props for being able to hook his attention so expertly, however adamant he’d been a moment ago. He couldn’t help but appreciate the objective intelligence of it.

Mostly, though, he was just irritated.

“Okay, you obviously have an agenda here,” Tony huffed. “ _ You _ want me to help this guy for some reason. And you might as well tell me what it is – because you’re not going to convince me  _ I _ want to give up my free time, and risk everything I’ve built, for someone who probably dressed up as a Vampire for Halloween…”

He trailed off when he recognised the wry look Pepper had fixed him with.

Tony dropped his shoulders, and let go of a purely symbolic heavy breath – another human habit he’d held on to, twenty years after stopped making sense. And then, before he could apologise for the outburst, she answered it.

“Actually, it’s more Bucky that I feel sorry for,” she smiled sadly. “He was turned into a weapon, against his will, and… you know what it’s like. To be…  _ frightened _ , of your own body…”

Tony felt an immediate pang of guilt, which his brain took a few seconds to catch up with… realising that he  _ had _ been looking at those plans as though they were a piece of tech, rather than a  _ person’s arm _ … He hadn’t really considered how different those malfunctions would feel, to a person who  _ had _ to be attached to them…

And he should have, really.

Because he  _ did _ know what it was like…

Tony narrowed his eyes at Pepper.

He knew he should tell her no. He  _ tried _ to tell her no… But, suddenly, there was a bodily resistance to saying it. A tightening in his ribs and a solidness through the whole of his torso. He was saying it all in his head – all the things he’d just said, all the things he’d been saying for twenty years. He found himself trying to physically force it, over a stiff tongue and an uncooperative jaw…

And maybe it was just that this was the first time  _ Pepper _ had asked him to help someone.

Maybe it was just that he found it harder to refuse a favour to  _ her _ than to any of the people who’d asked her to pass on their messages.

Maybe he was intrigued to know what -  _ who  _ \- had pushed her to make this plea, after all this time.

Or, maybe it was that he did feel sorry for Bucky now.

But he just couldn’t do it. He  _ couldn’t _ tell her no.

And then he thought about whether it would be any easier to tell her yes – and found that he was actually just saying it.

“I will agree to see him,  _ once _ .” Tony informed her, curtly. “And he has to come here, and he has to come at night, and he has to come  _ alone- _ ”

“Oh… I think Captain Rogers will insist on coming with him,” Pepper interrupted, her tone more careful now. “…Which, actually, I think would be a good idea, for a few reasons.”

Tony briefly considered putting his foot down over it – purely out of stubbornness.

But…

If he was going to break his decades-long ban on visitors…

Even though he  _ knew  _ that Pepper had been goading him, and there probably wouldn’t be any difference between the real Steve Rogers and his pictures…

Okay, he  _ did _ kind of want to see for himself now.

“Fine – but  _ just the two of them, _ ” Tony insisted, and Pepper nodded placatingly. “And this is  _ just _ a consultation, with no guarantees – this is  _ not _ me saying that I’m going to ‘fix his arm’. I am  _ just _ going to have a look at it.”

“I’ll be very clear about that,” Pepper assured him, smiling now.

“And they  _ do not _ need to know anything about me” Tony warned her, making sure to look her right in the eye for this point. “They do not need to be told I’m a vampire. They do not need to be warned that I’m ‘a bit different’. They do not need to be prepared for me being a bit eccentric, or anything like that. You can tell them I’ll see them –  _ once –  _ and they can just take me as they find me.”

“Of course,” She told him sincerely, placing an affectionate hand on his arm. Tony let go of a little bit of the tension in his body.

Oh, this was a stupid idea. But.

“Fine.” He huffed. “Then, it’s fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve backed the car into the specified bay behind Tony Stark’s mansion. He cut the engine, and then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket so that he could switch it off, as instructed. And then he took a moment to look up at the house…

Usually, at moments like this, Steve would try to visualise the potential outcomes. Even when he had no idea what a place looked like, he’d still have _some_ idea of what to expect on the other side of the door… who would be there, or what events were about to take place, or even what the general atmosphere might be-

But right now, he really had _no_ idea of what he was about to walk into.

Steve had spent the last few nights trying to find a photograph of Tony Stark. He knew there wouldn’t be any after 1992, and he’d heard that Stark Industries had been _thorough_ in removing all the earlier pictures from the internet – but he’d thought a few would have slipped through, surely? Paparazzi shots of Stark in his teen years, or press photographs of his parent’s funeral, or pictures from people’s private collections, uploaded to Facebook years after they were taken. Something on one of SHIELDs servers even, where Stark shouldn’t have been able to get to it…

But no.

Steve had searched every database and archive he had access to, and still the only picture of Tony Stark that he’d had ever seen was a low-resolution image of a wide-eyed toddler, looking up at his father, on the cover of _Newsweek_. Too iconic an image for Stark Industries to bother removing, maybe – or too obviously useless in identifying him now. It certainly didn’t help Steve to imagine what he looked like today…

Or what he might _be_ like. What this house might be like. What they should say or do when they got in there - 

“Steve?” Bucky prompted gently, and Steve snapped out of it.

“Right, yeah,” he nodded, opening the door. “You ready?”

“Not getting any readier,” Bucky shrugged. Steve felt a little twinge of guilt. He reminded himself that _his_ anxieties didn’t really get a look in here. Not when Bucky had to work through so many traumas, every single time they did this. Steve knew there were a hundred things Bucky was trying not to think about right now. Things he was trying so hard not to _remember_ …

Steve really hoped that Stark wasn’t going to be an ass about this.

So far, every specialist they’d spoken to had been an ass – each in their own special way. There was the guy who just pulled Bucky’s arm around like a piece of equipment, in spite of numerous reminders that it was attached to him. Then there was the woman who continued to ask _astoundingly_ insensitive questions about HYDRA, even when Bucky was quite clearly getting upset. And who could forget the team at NASA, who broke into an aggressive argument amongst themselves while Bucky was still wired into a scanner. Steve would like to hope that Stark was going to be different… But, since he had literally nothing to base that on, it would have to be his job to help Bucky through this.

He flashed Bucky a smile he didn’t really feel, and gestured towards the door.

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” he said, cheerfully. “And if you’re a big boy, and don’t make a fuss, we can get ice cream on the way home.”

Bucky threw him a snide look. Steve could see him trying not to smile.

*

Tony was trying not to throw up.

He’d spent the last few days in a state of constant, queasy anxiety. Listing all the reasons that this was such a bad idea. Trying not to think about it. Trying to come up with a way to get out of it. Asking himself why he’d agreed to it in the first place. And round and round the cycle went, until he felt physically, bodily exhausted with it. Until – he _thought_ – he was actually anxious for it to happen. For it to be _over_ with.

And then JARVIS calmly announced that Captain Rogers’ car had pulled up outside, and it just… _hit him_. That this thing was actually happening. What ‘this thing’ really was. Just how much he didn’t want to do this-

He _couldn’t_ do this.

And it had nothing to do with personal security or the future of the company or the integrity of the Avengers. It wasn’t any of the reasons he’d given to Pepper, or any of the objections he’d been listing in his own head for days. This was something right from his gut. A sudden _understanding_ that…

This would be the first person he’d met in twenty years.

These would be the first people to even know what he looked like. The first time anyone could ask him a question or listen to his opinion or take offence to him in some way... The first time he had to think about what it meant to be human. The more Tony tried to process that idea, the more terrifying it became. The more he remembered the reasons he’d hidden himself away from people in the first place.

There was an immediate impulse to run. To simply tell JARVIS not to unlock the door, to not _care_ what either of them thought about it-

Tony remembered this feeling.

The same irrational, emotional terror that had overwhelmed him when his parents died. When he’d tried to picture running that _huge_ company, in a world without _any_ family… The moment he’d panicked and thought, _I can’t._

The same wordless horror that swamped him, when he looked down at his own undead body and realised what Obie had done. The moment when he’d tried to comprehend that he was a _vampire_ … and thought, _I can’t_.

It was just as big a fear that gripped Tony now – and it was going to be the same answer. The same little voice that whispered, _you can, because you have to._

Tony uncurled his fists. He forced himself to relax his shoulders and stand up straighter. He told himself again, _you can, because you have to._ And he knew he had to. He couldn’t tell Pepper that he’d just left both of them on the doorstep, when this was the first thing she’d asked of him in twenty years. He couldn’t break this promise to her, not now. And Tony knew he couldn’t really do it to Rogers or Barnes either. Tony wasn’t exactly sure _what_ he was any more… but he was sure that he wasn’t cruel.

Tony _couldn’t_ send them away. So, he _could_ deal with them being here. It would just have to be that way-

And then, when they were gone, _then_ he could throw up.

“Shall I open the main entrance, sir?” JARVIS enquired, a little hint of caution in his voice. Tony swallowed hard before he answered.

“Yeah, main door and the elevator,” he managed, still trying to steady himself. “Just let them right through.”

“They’re on their way, sir.” JARVIS confirmed, cheerfully.

Tony stared at the elevator doors for two impossibly long seconds before the tension got to be too much. Then he paced over to the other side of the workshop again and opened up Barnes’ medical records, just for the sake of something to do. He heard the elevator come to a soft stop and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He resolved to ignore it.

He did glance up, briefly, when he heard the two of them step into the workshop. He caught a glimpse of Barnes, and the shadow of Rogers, just a generic shape behind him – Tony looked away before he could take in any more detail.

And he was right in the middle of chastening himself for that – _maybe_ even starting to talk himself down, to finally recognise how absurd this reaction was-

And then Rogers spoke.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” his voice was unsettlingly familiar, coming from a total stranger.

“Well, Pepper said…”

And Tony _knew_ he’d been right in the middle of saying something, when he’d eventually managed to look up-

And seen Steve-

And just…

Forgotten how to talk.

Oh, God, Steve really _was_ so much prettier in real life than in any of his photographs-

And so _there_.

Standing right there, taking up so much more space than Tony had been expecting… _so_ much taller, and broader, than he looked on TV…

Suddenly, all the big, existential questions just crumbled into irrelevance. Tony was immediately overwhelmed by the very simple, very _human_ realisation that this was _the_ most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life… He hadn’t felt anything like this in over two decades. And yet, for just a minute, it felt so natural and so familiar and so much, that he almost forgot that he was fundamentally separate from all this-

And then he realised that he had no idea what he was saying. And then he remembered just how separate from everything he really was.

“…That I had to,” Tony managed to finish, weakly. Turning, _pointedly,_ back to his holograms. “Pepper said that I had to see you. So. It’s probably her you should thank.”

_Smooth, Stark, real smooth…_

“Well. We appreciate it anyway,” Steve answered, more curtly – and Tony felt his shoulders tense.

Two minutes in, and already going badly. _This_ was why he didn’t socialise…

“Okay, so, let’s have a look then,” Tony huffed, talking to Barnes directly. He was _also_ a beautiful man, of course, and also much bigger in real life… But looking at him just didn’t have the same bodily impact on Tony. Maybe it was because Barnes did at least look like his photographs…

…Maybe he just didn’t have that particular _ethereal_ prettiness that Steve had-

“So, what exactly happened with it?” Tony asked Barnes, a tad too sharply.

“Er, well, this last time it just seized up,” Bucky answered, awkwardly lifting his arm so that Tony could look it over. “And then there was a sort of, electric shock feeling, up along my back…”

“So, did it seize first and _then_ there was the shock?” Tony clarified – most of his attention still focused on the idea of Steve, somewhere off to the left of him, where he was refusing to look…

“Yeah, definitely,” Bucky nodded. “There was definitely a second when I realised my arm wasn’t moving, _before_ the pain.”

Tony _felt_ his mind come into sharper focus, as that response managed to grab his attention. There was a little loosening in his chest, a feeling of freedom, as his attention shifted to the answer Barnes had just given-

This wasn’t the information he’d been expecting.

“So, the first you knew there was a problem was when you went to move your arm?” Tony frowned, glancing up to meet Barnes’ eye. He realised that it was much easier to do that, when he was actually thinking about something else…

“Well, it was more that it went dead,” Bucky explained. “It felt… _heavy_ , all of a sudden – _then_ I tried to move it. Then the pain.”

“And it didn’t hurt, the last time it seized up…” Tony mused, looking back at the holograms.

“Nope, that’s never happened before.”

“Did it feel heavy, the last time?” Tony questioned, glancing back at him. He saw the flicker of thought behind Bucky’s eyes.

“…No, actually,” he remembered out loud. “No, last time it just froze, mid action – but it wasn’t heavy, the same way…”

Tony felt a little smile tugging at his lips. _This_ was familiar. This spark of inspiration, flaring into something bigger, triggering a hundred other ideas. This understanding of science, this process of figuring things out, this feeling that came with a technical challenge – this felt safe, and certain, and fundamentally _him_ , even when nothing else about the situation did.

“Do you get the headache before or after it happens?” Tony asked. Bucky blinked at him, amazed. Then he frowned, like he’d just been caught out by a magic trick.

“…Afterwards,” he replied, slowly. “…But I completely forgot to mention that…”

“S’okay, no one ever remembers all the symptoms,” Tony muttered, still focused on filing in his theory. “And the pain, where does it run to?”

“I’m sorry?” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, you said the shock ran _up_ your back – so, it wasn’t running _away_ from your arm?”

“Uh, well, it…” Bucky frowned again, working it out as he spoke. “…It might be _both_ , actually…”

“Like it’s running up along your arm, _and_ running up your spine, and meeting in your _shoulder_ …?” Tony guessed, and then watched the realisation rise up in Bucky’s eyes.

“…Yeah,” he nodded, more openly impressed now. Tony focussed his attention on the joint at Barnes’ shoulder. And he wondered…

“You think you know what it might be?” Steve’s voice broke Tony out of his thoughts. There was such a sweet sincerity in his tone, a softness that Tony responded to before he could stop himself. He _liked_ something about that… And then there was a little jolt inside him – _oh yeah, this is the most awkward and uncomfortable situation I’ve ever been in. I was so carried away, I almost forgot._

But it was better to forget. It was better to focus entirely on this one thing he was confident in, and pretend the rest of it just wasn’t happening. 

“I think I know _where_ the problem is. And I don’t think it’s anywhere near where anyone else has been looking…” he spoke to somewhere in Steve’s general vicinity.

“You think the problem is my shoulder?” Bucky queried, sounding sceptical.

“No, actually,” Tony answered. “In fact, I don’t think the problem is in your arm at all.”

Tony saw the flash of genuine fear on Bucky’s face then. The _way_ he looked at Steve, like he was looking for something to hold on to. The almost imperceptible movement as he went to cross his arms and then stopped himself… Like he knew he wasn’t allowed to curl up into a ball. He covered it quickly, straightening his shoulders and rearranging his features into a more stoic look of concern. 

But still, Tony knew. He knew all the ominous thoughts going through Bucky’s mind, all the unnatural ideas that had just flashed up. Tony recognised every part of that reaction, from the panic to the cover-up. He _empathised_.

_You’re remembering the people that did this to you. You hate them for thinking they had the right._

_You’re remembering the person you used to be. You’re scared of what you might become._

_You’re remembering the people you love. You hate the idea of them hurting for you._

And even now, it was his instinct to tell Bucky, _I know what you’re going through._ He wanted to tell Bucky his story – or, at least, that still seemed like the obvious thing to do. To share his experience, to talk about the feelings they had in common, to pass on some of the things he’d learned… That _was_ human interaction, wasn’t it? That was the _only_ way two people could talk, even in theory… That was why Tony had cut himself off from the world in the first place. Because he’d realised that it was literally impossible to have a normal conversation, much less any sort of relationship, when he shared so few experiences with people… and whatever experiences he did have, he couldn’t share.

He _couldn’t_ tell Bucky that he understood. He couldn’t share any of the anecdotes or personal lessons that might be relevant right now. He couldn’t even ask Bucky how _he_ was feeling, because he already knew he’d have nothing human to say in response. Tony’s natural inclination to reach out – that fundamental instinct to talk and ask and share – just wasn’t an option anymore. And there were no other options… Not for a _real_ conversation, anyway.

The best he could do was to get through this situation. That was all.

“Okay, there are two types of medical diagnosis,” Tony spoke as quickly as he could, not wanting to drag this out. “There are the ones that sound way worse than they are, and the ones that are way worse than they sound.”

“Please tell me this is the first one,” Bucky commented lightly, like he was trying to make a joke of it.

“First bit of good news,” Tony beamed, theatrically. “It is, in fact, the first one – which is to say, this is going to sound scary, but really isn’t.”

“Okay,” Bucky breathed, subtly bracing his back.

“I think the problem is actually in your brain,” Tony started, carefully – and then, when he saw the flash of alarm on Bucky’s face, he raced to clarify- “But that doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with your brain. It’s not actually anything to do with your brain…”

“Right?” Bucky prompted nervously, as Tony tried to think of a way to explain it.

“Okay, so, you know when a man has a heart attack, he sometimes gets a pain in his left arm?” Tony began, waiting for Bucky to nod before he carried on, “Well, the reason that happens isn’t that there’s anything wrong with the guy’s arm, obviously. Actually, it’s because the pain receptors in your heart and the pain receptors in your arm send signals to the same part of the brain – so, when they get there, your brain has no idea which part sent it, and therefore which part to make ‘hurt’. It’s called referred pain… But the point is, there isn’t anything ‘wrong’ with your brain then, either. It’s just that it’s the brain that is making it happen…”

“So, it’s a problem somewhere else entirely?” Steve asked from somewhere behind him. Tony made himself think very hard about the issue at hand when he answered.

“I think it’s actually just that your brain doesn’t know how to interpret the signals your arm is sending,” he continued to speak directly to Bucky. “I think this problem requires more reprogramming than it does surgery…”

“…Can you do that?” Bucky asked, cautiously.

Tony felt his stomach drop. He realised, belatedly, that the solution he was merrily putting together would actually take a lot of work… Work that only he could do. Immediately, he panicked that he was just walking himself further into something that he was desperate to get out of. And then – much more unnerving – was the first stirring of an idea… that maybe he _didn’t_ desperately want to get out of this…

But that was wrong. That _had_ to be wrong.

“I don’t know, yet,” he replied, more soberly. Stalling for time, more than anything. He looked back at Barnes’ files, and then at Barnes’ arm, and tried to think of any other generic questions he could ask while he had this existential crisis. “Are there any ways you prefer to do this? Any treatments or procedures that you really don’t like?”

“Not really,” Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I don’t like any of it. But…”

Tony felt a little smile take him by surprise. There was that pang of empathy again. That little flicker of connection, which he was starting to think might just _be_ the experience of talking to other people… it had been so long since he did it. And, right this moment, Tony wasn’t sure he didn’t like it. He might even have _missed_ it-

Which did nothing to help with the confusion he was currently trying to work through.

“Do you prefer to be put out? Or do you prefer to be awake for treatment, if you can?” Tony pressed on.

“I, uh… Well, I hate watching the work being done…” Bucky answered, thoughtfully. Hesitating over something.

“Would you prefer if Captain Rogers was here, if you were under a general anaesthetic?” Tony guessed. It wasn’t until he saw Bucky’s eyes widen optimistically that it dawned on him…

_What the fuck did I just say?_

And the funny thing was, that suggestion had slipped out so casually _because_ Tony had been trying so hard to think like a professional. He’d been trying to _avoid_ the sudden personal confusion, to think rationally, to focus purely on the problem he was there to fix. 

And, committing entirely to that mindset, the first priority was to consider the perspective of the patient. What personal biology, psychology, history or culture should form the basic assumptions of his approach… He’d thought about Bucky’s experience with HYDRA entirely unemotionally, simply because it seemed relevant. It seemed _sensible_ to consider Bucky’s particular issues with trust, the things that might make specific treatments more difficult for him. Thinking objectively, as a doctor should, Tony had easily recognised that this particular anxiety might be eased, if someone Bucky trusted was in the room with him. It was an obvious way to reduce the downsides of the patients preferred course of treatment…

It was only afterwards that Tony thought to consider his suggestion as a _person._ To realise that he’d just _offered_ to let Steve Rogers come back the next time-

That he’d just casually accepted that there _would be_ a next time-

“Would that be okay?” Bucky asked quite genuinely, like he was perfectly prepared for the answer to be no…

Oh, but the answer couldn’t be _no_ , could it? He’d _said_ it now. Another very human feeling, another thing he hadn’t felt in twenty years… and still felt so perfectly natural… _putting his foot in it._ The realisation that he’d already dug himself into a hole that he couldn’t get out of, that _now_ it would be ridiculous to say anything other than,

“If that makes it easier.”

“So, does that mean you… _can_ , treat this?” Steve asked, _very_ cautiously… like he was nervous. Tony didn’t know why that should be immediately endearing – but he wished it wasn’t. He was having quite enough difficulty with that one simple question as it was.

_Jesus, just tell them no._

_Tell them you can pass this on to an actual doctor._

_Tell them you’ll think about it and get back to them._

And then he looked directly at Steve again, for the first time since he’d walked into the room.

…And it wasn’t _just_ that Steve was so pretty.

It was the _way_ Steve was looking at him. The openness in his expression, the vulnerability of his optimism… That little hint of shyness, which seemed so touchingly ordinary, somehow. Tony felt like everything good about human beings was somewhere in that look. Everything he missed about them. And maybe Tony could ignore the sudden urge to reach out to it. After years of practice, Tony could’ve talked himself out of this reaction. He could’ve fought the temptation to say _yes_ ….

But he couldn’t tell Steve no.

It was a completely separate question, and it had nothing to do with what Tony wanted, or what he thought was a good idea. It didn’t matter. The fact was, he just couldn’t look at _that_ face and say no. It would’ve been like kicking a puppy, or swearing at a child – some deeply ingrained function in him rebelled against the very thought. It was irrational. It was ridiculous. But there it was.

“I think so,” Tony managed, his throat suddenly tight. And then Steve _smiled_ , and Tony had to flinch away from it. He was genuinely thankful that it wasn’t possible for him to blush anymore. “I’d have to run some more diagnostic tests, before I could tell you exactly _how_ …”

“Now?” Bucky asked, obligingly.

“Uh, no, not now,” Tony answered immediately. “I’ll have to modify some programmes first… set up some equipment…” Which wasn’t true. Honestly, he wasn’t even _thinking_ about what tests he’d have to run – he was just thinking that he’d like to step out of this ever increasing clusterfuck, please. And then he realised that they were both still looking at him, expectantly.

“Can you come back next week?” Tony pulled from absolutely nowhere.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Steve agreed, happily. “Same day, time?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony surrendered. He heard Steve let go of a heavy breath… relieved. _Happy_. Tony didn’t know how that made him feel. Mainly, he was concerned that it made him feel anything at all… “You can see yourselves out, right?” He added, somewhat abruptly – neither of them seemed to take it personally.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “…Thank you.”

“It’s…fine,” Tony managed. 

And he managed to retain some sort of composure, as he watched them walk to the elevator. He returned Steve’s little nod of acknowledgement, just before the doors closed behind them. And then suddenly Tony found himself standing in the middle of this suffocating silence, feeling out of place in his own workshop. He didn’t know if he couldn’t believe they’d gone, or if he couldn’t believe they’d ever been here - but something about the situation wasn’t quite fitting in his head. He certainly wasn’t ‘fine’.

The trouble was… Tony had no idea what he was instead. 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve and Bucky were sitting in the breakroom, sharing a few moments of comfortable silence as they cooled down from the morning workout. Bucky was lounging in the easy chair – the one he and Sam were engaged in permanent warfare over – indolently flicking through his phone. Steve was lying flat out on one of the couches, staring up at the ceiling… _thinking._

“Do you think that Stark had figured all that out before we even went there…” he mused. “That maybe that whole appointment was just him… _playing it up_?”

“No,” Bucky sighed, wearily, not even bothering to glance up from the screen.

“I just mean… You know, when he asked you _when_ you got a headache, not _if_ you get headaches…Like he already knew…”

“No, I think that was just him working out that I probably get headaches,” Bucky answered, in the same bored tone. Steve felt his cheeks warm as he realised… he was doing it again. He reminded himself that he’d resolved _not_ to talk about Tony Stark anymore.

“Sorry,” he muttered… already thinking of another thing he meant to mention… Bucky rolled his eyes affectionately and put his phone away, sitting up to look at Steve when he asked,

“Do you just not want to go back tomorrow? Because, really, I’m a big boy now – I _can_ turn up for some tests on my own.”

And Steve knew before he even said it that he’d said it at least ten times already. He _knew_ this Tony Stark thing had gone beyond being boring for Bucky and well into being embarrassing for him. He even knew what Bucky was going to say back. But… it was driving him mad. Steve didn’t know _why_ that meeting, or that man, had _gotten_ to him like this – but it had, okay? And there was still this constant barrage of questions that he kept asking himself, this strange feeling of anxiety that built in him, until he felt like he just had to _say_ -

“Are we sure that I’m even invited?” And, as expected, Bucky responded by collapsing back against the easy chair and groaning theatrically.

“ _Yes”_

“You keep _just_ saying yes,” Steve observed, sitting up. “You haven’t actually answered any of my points.”

“Which are?” Bucky exhaled, exasperated.

“He did _specifically_ say that I could be there if you were under a general anaesthetic,” Steve reminded him. “Not that I should be there every time you turned up. In fact, since he – _pointedly_ – didn’t even look at me the whole time I was there, I get the impression he doesn’t want me there. I mean, he even answered _my_ questions directly to you.”

“Okay, point number one – what do you _mean_ , he didn’t look at you the whole time you were there?” Bucky sat up again, an exaggerated frown on his face. “You both just stood and stared at each other for a full minute when we first arrived.”

“No, we walked in and Stark gave me a strange look,” Steve corrected, tetchily. They’d discussed ‘the look’, several times, and Steve had already made it clear that he wasn’t counting that. Bucky just rolled his eyes again, and gave up on that line of conversation.

“And, point number two, I think he would have _specifically_ said if he didn’t want you to be there,” he went on, instead.

“Not if I just leapt in and invited myself-”

“Yeah, Steve, because if there’s one thing Tony Stark is bad at, it’s telling people he doesn’t want them at his house,” Bucky cut in, sarcastically. Steve dropped his shoulders and gave an abashed little nod, _yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one._ “But, like I say, if _you_ don’t want to go-”

“No, of course I’m going to go,” Steve muttered, lying flat out on the couch again. He promised himself that he was going to _stop talking about this._ He was going to stop thinking about it. He _was_.

And then he glanced up, and saw that Bucky had him fixed with a wry look, one eyebrow raised.

“I just… don’t like him,” Steve sighed. Bucky narrowed his eyes, but before he could comment, Steve carried on, “I _know_ I should just be happy that he can fix it – I _am_ happy we found someone who can fix it. And I know he’s not as big an ass as everyone else we’ve seen, so, you know, it’s really _not_ a big deal-”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky deadpanned, and Steve pointedly ignored it,

“-I just… I don’t know, I find him _uncomfortable_ to be around, or something.”

“Uncomfortable,” Bucky repeated, with the smallest of smiles.

“I don’t know,” Steve groaned. He _really_ had to get off this one topic-

And then Bucky commented, casually,

“He’s hot, though.”

And Steve felt his jaw clench involuntarily, hard enough that it made his teeth ache. He’d almost said, _well, obviously_. He wasn’t sure what made him so reluctant to say that, actually, given that he’d been so eager to talk about Tony Stark all week…

Maybe it was simply that it had made him so uncomfortable at the time.

He had just been so… _surprised,_ when he saw Tony. Steve wasn’t exactly proud of it, but if he was perfectly honest with himself… he _had_ been preparing himself for something else entirely. Well, he’d had no idea what to prepare for, but he realised now that he’d been thinking in completely the wrong direction. 

And, in Steve’s defence, that was mostly because there were so many rumours about Tony Stark. A lot of it was just Steve remembering the things other people said, rather than coming up with these ideas himself. That Tony Stark was been horribly scarred in some sort of accident, that Tony Stark had spent the last twenty years modifying his body, that he had some sort of wasting disease… And Steve had known it was all very unkind and very unlikely and that it shouldn’t have factored into his impression of Tony Stark one way or the other – but, yeah, _maybe_ it had laid some sort of subconscious bias. Steve might even have thought he was being considerate, at the time. Reminding himself that he had no idea what Tony’s story was, that he had no right to judge him, that obviously it didn’t matter _what_ Stark looked like…

But he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Tony Stark might be _the_ most stunning man who’d ever lived.

And now that Bucky had made that throwaway comment, Steve found himself picturing Tony’s face again… those big, dark eyes looking up at him through those impossible lashes… Steve _knew_ he’d stared at Tony for far too long. He actually preferred to think that Stark had given him a strange look, rather than think that maybe he’d started it. That maybe Tony was just responding to the strange look Steve had given _him_ …

Steve got that same uncomfortable, tight feeling in his ribs. He didn’t know if he was remembering it, or if he just felt like that every time he thought of Tony – but he was sure he didn’t like it..

“And doesn’t he know it,” Steve answered, acerbically. And Bucky just smiled, knowingly,

“You know, for a guy you don’t like that much…You talk about him a lot.”

Steve felt the blood rush to his face. Obviously, they _both_ knew Steve had been talking about him a lot. It wasn’t like either of them were pretending otherwise – it was perfectly clear in the apologetic way Steve started each little rant, and the fondly impatient way that Bucky responded. But neither of them had _said_ it yet. Steve hadn’t had to acknowledge or deny or explain or defend this impulse, before now.

“I just know this is going to be important, is all,” he muttered, weakly. Bucky pursed his lips sceptically, and Steve’s blush deepened, because, yeah – they both knew _that_ was total garbage.

“Uh huh. It’s got nothing to do with you being painfully horny, right now?”

“No,” Steve answered – far too quickly. “And, anyway, I’m not going to fuck your new doctor. Not after it took us this long to find someone.”

“You _should_ fuck my new doctor,” Bucky snorted.

“ _You_ should fuck my new doctor,” Steve shot back, mindlessly – the sort of exchange they’d shared since grade school. The sort of thing he’d never say to anyone else, but had simply never _stopped_ staying around Bucky.

“Maybe I will,” Bucky teased.

And, how about that – Steve really didn’t like it.

There was an instant and undeniable pang of… well, panic. There wasn’t really another word for it. The idea that maybe Bucky _did_ like Tony-

But then Steve looked up at Bucky, and saw that he was joking.

“What? Jealous?” Bucky asked, shrewdly.

“I don’t care who else you fuck,” Steve muttered back – _deliberately_ misinterpreting him.

“I know you don’t care who _I_ fuck,” Bucky answered. “Otherwise you wouldn’t like Nat. Or Sam.”

“When did you fuck Sam?” Steve frowned at him.

“Well, I’m _going_ to fuck Sam,” Bucky clarified, dismissively, _same difference._

Steve groaned at him, affectionately – suddenly glad of the change in conversation.

*

Tony was also lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling… _thinking_.

He’d flopped out on the couch because he had to. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d last sat down, and even an undead body has its limits. Limits he might have tried to push through, even now, if he could’ve thought of anything to push ahead with…

Up until now, Tony had channelled this anxiety into work. He hadn’t thought about _why_ he couldn’t eat and had barely slept and had difficulty sitting still. He’d just considered it as even more time to spend on his project, and focused _all_ of his mental energy onto that. As a result, he’d had the most creative and prolific week of his life. The workshop was still strewn with models he’d mocked up, his server was full of notes and experiment results and theory – some of which might represent significant breakthroughs for medical science as a whole.

But now, having contemplated every possible approach to Soviet military history and quasi-organic biology and complex neurological theory, Tony was forced to conclude that he had run out of diversions. There was nothing left to distract him from the aching fatigue in his back or the dull pounding of his head…

Or that restless, nagging feeling – and all the reasons behind it.

To begin with, it was just a flood of mental images that Tony couldn’t fight anymore. Flashes from that first awkward meeting. Visions of the next one going just as badly. The memory of those _perfect_ blue eyes, just looking at him like that… Tony rubbed his face, irritably, and tried to at least put it all into some sort of order. Instinctively starting with the _practical_ considerations, thinking that would be less painful, somehow.

Not that the practical considerations were in any way comforting. Having analysed every aspect of Bucky’s treatment, Tony had been forced to conclude that, yes, he could fix this thing – but it was going to take weeks. There was just no getting around the fact that Bucky would need time to heal between procedures, that his body would need time to adapt to the changes and learn the new programming. However efficient Tony was, however successful each individual session, it was still going to mean asking them to come back… again and again.

_Which means hundreds of chances for me to slip up._

_It means so many opportunities for other people to use this as an in._

_It makes it more likely they’ll get associated with me, and that might make them a target._

But Tony wasn’t really considering those problems; just listing them. Honestly, he couldn’t see the benefit in trying to fix any of them. The whole situation felt like a wall of water headed right for him – there seemed little point in thinking about pulling his hood up or tucking his pants into his socks. Ultimately, this was a dangerous situation that he had no hope of getting out of. Tinkering around the edges and trying to safeguard against minor risks just sounded frustrating. 

And none of that was causing the queasy stomach-ache anyway.

These should have been Tony’s real concerns. He _wanted_ them to be his real concerns. He was literally trying to convince himself that these were the real problems, _these_ were the things that worried him… All because he didn’t want to think about what had actually given him indigestion all week.

The fact that he might _like_ someone.

The fact that he might _want_ someone.

The fact that he couldn’t have _anything,_ from _anyone_ – and all the reasons why he couldn’t.

Tony groaned and collapsed further into the couch. He _so_ didn’t want to tumble into the emotional, existential issues behind all this. He’d avoided those questions for at least ten years – because they were always painful, and they were always pointless. And so much more complicated than they sounded. The question, _why do I like this stranger?_ might be a harmless little diversion, for anyone else. The question, _do I want to see him again?_ could be answered with a simple, _hey, why not? Let’s see where it goes_ . But for Tony to even think about that much, he’d have to think about what he _could_ have from other people, and why, and why _not_ and-

And this was why he didn’t bother thinking about this stuff anymore.

But… He wanted to see Steve again. There was just no unknowing that fact. He wasn’t sure _why_ he liked Steve so much. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping would happen, the next time they met. He couldn’t think of one actual reason it was a good idea to see him again. But, apparently, the answers to those questions didn’t really matter. Tony wanted to see him again anyway. 

And he knew he should try and talk himself out of that, or make some effort to understand it, or at least try to prepare himself for it… but he couldn’t bear to think about it. He didn’t _want_ to think about everything he missed, and what might happen if he made one little change, and what he could hypothetically have with Steve… Because then he’d have to remember why he couldn’t have any of those things, and why he couldn’t make any of those changes…

Why he couldn’t have Steve, or anyone, ever.

Tony didn’t want to spend the whole evening going through exactly why his life was so shit. He didn’t want to suffer through a specific list of things he could never have, he didn’t want to have to think about why he wanted those things so badly. He preferred being able to take that for granted, to never have to look directly at it… to not think about it at all.

His phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

It took Tony a few seconds to focus on the text, his eyes were so weary by now. A message from Rhodey, sent from halfway around the world: _So, how did it go then?_ Tony just stared at it for a moment. And then there was the very first stirring of an idea…

Something about how Pepper must’ve told him…

That it somehow fit into Tony’s theory about her having an agenda…

But his thoughts were too sluggish right now to push that train of thought out of the station. So, Tony let it dissolve into nothing, and tried instead to think about how to answer that text…

God, that was an exhausting prospect.

Tony briefly considered avoiding the question. Replying with details about Barnes’ treatment, saying that he wouldn’t know until he had a closer look at the data… But almost immediately he recognised that there wasn’t any point. He knew exactly what Rhodey was really asking, and he knew that Rhodey knew he knew. If he was going to try palming Rhodey off with a non-answer, he might as well just not reply at all.

Then he considered just not replying at all – especially as his exhaustion was closing in on him at a rapidly increasing pace. He knew Rhodey wouldn’t take it personally. Probably wouldn’t think anything of it…

But Tony did kind of want to tell him.

There was something exhilarating about the drama of this. Even the anxiety and the angst felt strangely compelling. Real. _Human_. As awful as all this was, part of him actually liked it.

But, Jesus, he had no way of explaining _that._ Not over text – not when he was this tired. ‘ _Part of me likes how much I hate this’_ made no sense whatsoever, even to him.

And ‘ _I think I like someone’_ would only lead to a thousand other questions that Tony couldn’t answer. Probably a hundred well-meaning suggestions that Tony couldn’t possibly act on. God Bless Rhodey and his eternal optimism that Tony might one day be able to make a single step back into the world… But Tony wasn’t in the mood for it right now. He winced at the very thought of Rhodey suggesting he ask for Steve’s number, or pointing out that it was healthy to like people, or any of his usual encouragement. Tony didn’t want to have to argue with it. He didn’t want to have to think about it.

_Arg._ His eyes hurt. His head hurt. His heart hurt.

He thought about just saying that Steve was hot. He even made a few false starts, typing and deleting the same opening three times before he recognised… No, he just wasn’t comfortable with that. He had no idea why, but that just felt… cheap.

Then he typed, _I think I have made a terrible mistake –_ and deleted it. He knew if he sent that Rhodey would call him, and by now he was so tired that he didn’t think he could physically form words.

_I have no fucking idea_ , he managed eventually – crashing out into sleep while he was still pressing ‘send’.

*

Steve didn’t think about dinner until ten o’clock that night.

He’d spent the entire evening in his office, making sure all of his paperwork was up-to-date and getting a head start on next week’s workload. Wanting to make sure that he was as free as he could possibly be for their appointment tomorrow – that there would be no reason for someone to phone him, nothing he might be called back into the office to deal with… No reason for anyone to ask where he was on Friday night. 

All of which had seemed very sensible back when he started, four hours ago. Steve had really believed he was simply doing some necessary preparation, being as organised as he would usually be – that he wasn’t thinking anything more about it than that. Until he started running out of things to do. Then, slowly, he began to recognise that maybe this whole thing had been driven by more than a sense of duty… That maybe he was just a little bit anxious.

He sighed, and straightened the items on his desk for the third time. He felt himself blushing, all alone at his desk, as he acknowledged the adrenaline that had been flooding through him since this time last week. The abundance of energy that he just _knew_ was something to do with Tony Stark. He didn’t know what it was about Stark, _how_ Tony had gotten under his skin like this or _why_ he should care so much… But, suddenly, Steve could see exactly what he’d been doing all evening. Trying to eat up the time until he saw Tony again, trying to do something with the excess of excitement – trying to find something he could control in the midst of this confusing situation.

And, of course, once Steve realised what he was doing, he realised it wouldn’t work. That no amount of paperwork would make him feel any more prepared, or any more in control – or any less anxious. That nothing he did tonight would make tomorrow come any quicker. That he wouldn’t feel any more relaxed right now, however much admin he got done.

Because the truth was that he was really wound up about seeing Tony Stark again.

Steve groaned softly, and let his head fall back… His neck ached in a muted protest, and he realised he’d been sitting in the same position for far too long. He decided he would take a break before he began an entirely new mental challenge. He’d go and get something to eat before he confronted his strange new obsession with Stark.

Again, all very sensible – but a person’s subconscious never pays attention to such logical plans.

_You_ _should_ _fuck my new doctor,_ he remembered, in Bucky’s voice, before he’d even finished standing up. He tried to ignore it. He tried to tell himself, _later_.

_Uh huh. It’s got nothing to do with you being painfully horny, right now._ And, before Steve could shut it down again, the immediate observation that…

Bucky might’ve had a point about that issue.

Steve gave up on any pretence that he was going to stop thinking about it, as he turned off the office light, and locked the door behind him. He was somewhat reassured by the thought that it might not be anything about Tony Stark, per se. That maybe it was simply because Stark was attractive, and Steve was currently in a place where _any_ attractive stranger would spark some sort of reaction in him. And, okay, the thought that maybe he was so physically lonely that he’d started fixating on total strangers… wasn’t exactly a comfort. But, for some reason, it better than thinking that he had a specific issue with Tony.

And… yeah. Steve _did_ miss physical intimacy, and he _was_ unbearably frustrated – and it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that issue before Tony Stark came into the picture. Steve had been trying to ignore it, sure. He’d tried to convince himself it was a minor issue, in the grand scheme of things… But, okay, he _was_ painfully horny right now.

And it wasn’t _just_ the effects of the serum. Yeah, the fact that all of his biological processes had been enhanced added a layer of complexity. It meant that Steve felt physical urges more strongly than other people, that he had certain… _needs_ , now. It meant that certain impulses had been sharpened to painful, _bodily_ necessities. But the arrangement he had with Bucky basically took care of that. And his relationship with Bucky was… _fine._ Steve didn’t have any concerns about the things they did for one another or the way it fit into everything else they were… It was just everything his relationship with Bucky _couldn’t_ be. It was the _other_ things that Steve missed.

The sexual side of his relationship with Bucky was entirely functional. Something that had developed naturally, when they both found themselves stranded on the front with the same serum-enhanced sex-drive. Because they both shared a basic need, and because they knew each other and trusted each other and loved each other in a way that nothing could complicate. But they weren’t lovers. They’d always understood that, in the same wordless way they understood everything about each other. This wasn’t a relationship based on a romantic spark or a genuine excitement. There wasn’t the thrill of attraction or the fun of flirtation or the genuine intimacy you could share with someone you were _in_ love with. Steve recognised that he really _wasn’t_ jealous when Bucky had sex with other people… and that, maybe, he’d like there to be someone in his life that he _could_ be a little bit jealous of. Or anxious to impress. Or excited about seeing. Or something.

It wasn’t like this, back in the forties. Back when Steve still had a real life, when there was still the chance of an exciting encounter with someone. The USO girls that he’d shared one special night with, or the women he had fleeting romances with while the Commandos were camped out in little French villages, or the men he stole illicit moments with in dark alleys. Moments when Steve had felt like a sexual being, and not just someone completing the function of sex. Moments when Steve wanted, and felt wanted. Moments he felt _alive_.

But since he’d woken up in the future, everything was different. Steve had enough trouble working out how to talk to anyone at first, much less talking about _that_. It had taken him so long to figure out the language and the culture and the norms of the 21st Century, especially in the months before he even had any friends to talk to.

And then Steve found out about the Hydra occupation of SHIELD, and Bucky… And sex had fallen well down the list of priorities. Steve had even actively pushed it down that list, because it felt like one of the frivolous things he _should_ be immediately disinterested in, when something important was happening.

But… _Bucky_ had found his way in this modern world well enough to have a sex life, by now. That fact made it much harder for Steve to pretend that he was putting ‘all that’ to one side because of what had happened. Steve had to accept that Bucky didn’t really need him to put his whole life on hold anymore... Which meant Steve probably had to accept that he had his own, full blown issue with sex, now.

And it was an issue. Steve avoided thinking about it to the point that he really didn’t know what the issue was, exactly. But he knew that he missed sex and still couldn’t bring himself to think about actually having a sex life. He knew that the prospect of doing any of the things he _wanted_ to do also made him feel slightly seasick. He knew that he was avoiding thinking about it, and that meant something in and of itself.

And, yeah, all of this was a headache… But, on the plus side, maybe _this_ was why he was so consumed by Tony Stark. It would be nice to be able to explain that much, at least. Why Steve should find himself picturing Tony’s face all the time, without warning, and for no reason. Why he should be so confused by his own reaction – after all, if Steve weren’t poised to leap on every attractive stranger, he probably would’ve been happy to file Tony under ‘annoying but okay’ and moved on with his life. It was just that basic, _shallow_ , part of him that was making Stark into anything more than that.

… _Did_ he mean ‘annoying’? Steve wasn’t sure that Stark was _annoying_. Stark was… Well, he was-

Steve was shocked out of his train of thought when he found Nat and Sam just standing in the breakroom. They looked up at him in unison, and then glanced at each other. Steve felt himself bracing for something before he could process what he was looking at.

“Oh, hey – didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, automatically. The breakroom was generally deserted after six in the evening, when everyone migrated up to the bar… Had they been waiting for him?

“Could say the same to you.” Nat observed, a smile hidden somewhere in her voice. “You working late?”

Belatedly, Steve recognised the way they’d looked at him. The same subtle heaviness in the tone that Nat was using. They might not have been ‘waiting for him’, but they definitely wanted to talk to him… About something they’d discussed in advance, something they were building to-

Oh, they were obviously going to ask-

“And did you _actually_ meet Tony Stark?” Sam burst in excitedly, ignoring the look Nat shot him for ruining her run up. Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Immediately, knew that he didn’t want to talk about it. That he wished they hadn’t asked.

Suddenly, Steve wasn’t sure how much of this arrangement was a secret. Whether Tony would expect him to conceal even the fact that they’d met-

“Too slow,” Nat sighed. “So, you _did_ meet Tony Stark.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or mortified that she could read him so well.

“No comment,” he smiled, purposefully striding past them, toward the refrigerator.

“You don’t really think you’re going to get away with that,” Nat commented casually.

“Seriously, you met _Tony Stark_ ,” Sam added, incredulously. “Tony Stark turned down an invitation from Elon Musk. He flat out ignored Rupert Murdoch – _he said no to Oprah!_ ” He threw his hands out, in an attempt to illustrate the size of his point.

“Still no comment,” Steve sighed, pulling a carton of yesterday’s Chinese takeout from the back of the fridge.

“Okay, so just answer me this one question,” Nat suggested, taking a step closer to him. “Is he a creep?”

Steve’s spine straightened up from under him. He felt an instant stab of adrenaline, a hot prickle of irritation over his skin.

“Meaning?” He asked, a bit too sharply.

“I _mean_ , is he actually like, a serial killer the government has under house arrest?” Nat clarified, unaffected. “Or has he literally replaced all his limbs with robot parts – you know, the _really_ far out rumours?”

“No, he’s not a creep,” Steve replied, coldly, putting the carton down onto the kitchen counter.

And then he just… carried on talking.

“Actually, he’s probably the most human person that Bucky has spoken to since we started this whole thing. He’s the only person who bothered to ask what sort of treatment Bucky preferred – he’s the first person to ask Bucky what he thinks about anything at all, really. And he’s the first person who seems to really know what he’s talking about…” And, at last, Steve realised what he was doing – too late to have any chance of covering it up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Nat said, all too knowingly.

“You didn’t,” Steve replied, trying to sound nonchalant – and failing. “You wanted to know what he’s like, so… he’s nice.” He admitted, awkwardly. “He’s smart. He seems pretty normal.”

“Pretty normal?” Nat asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t exactly _know_ him,” Steve clarified, turning his attention back to the carton of Chinese, just so that he could look away from them. “I’m just saying, having met him briefly… No, none of the really wild rumours are true.” And out of the corner of his eye he saw them share a conspiratorial little glance.

“So, are you going to see him again?” Nat questioned, as Steve was putting his food into the microwave. And, instinctively Steve knew – if he said yes, she’d want to know _why_ he was going to see Tony Stark again. Why Bucky couldn’t just go on his own. Even if she didn’t ask him, she’d want to know… And Steve felt uncomfortable with that question being out there at all.

“No comment,” he repeated. And he remembered, _you don’t really think you’re going to get away with that?_ He set his shoulders instinctively, mentally preparing himself for further interrogation-

“Okay,” Nat shrugged. Steve looked up at her before he could think to stop himself, regretting it as soon as he met her eyes. Suddenly, he felt naked. “Well, we were actually just about to head up to the bar, so, if you’re done with working late, you should come and join us.”

Steve just nodded, miserably, forcing himself to at least look in their general direction as they left the room. As soon as they disappeared from view, he heard Sam pipe up, _but seriously though, you know Tony Stark legit turned down an audience with The Pope? You know_ _Lady Gaga_ _said she’d perform a private show for him…_ Steve smiled in spite of himself, as Sam’s tirade faded down the corridor. Then he heard the microwave ping cheerfully beside him, and turned to give his meal an unimpressed glare.

He’d completely lost his appetite.


	4. Chapter 4

“Colonel Rhodes to see you, sir.”

Tony woke up with a start, feeling as though he was right in the middle of something. It took him a second to work out that he’d been dreaming…

Something about… looking for something, or running from something… He couldn’t remember. And then JARVIS, talking to him-

“Sir?”

Oh, that part had been real.

“Colonel Rhodes said what?” He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Colonel Rhodes is at the door, sir,” JARVIS clarified, patiently.

“Oh, right, let him in then,” Tony answered on autopilot, still trying to get his bearings. He was briefly confused, thinking that Rhodey was supposed to be in Europe – but then he worked out that, obviously, that was hours ago. “What time is it?”

“Eight thirty-seven am, Sir,” JARVIS replied, and then pre-empted the next question. “You fell asleep just after ten last night.”

Tony winced, as he rolled his head and shook out his arms. It certainly felt like he’d been lying in the same position for ten hours. He’d done it often enough to be able to judge these things. This was the dazed sluggishness that came after he’d worked way beyond his own limits, and then slept for far too long afterwards. The painful stiffness that only happened when he’d slept deeply enough to stay completely still. The dry thickness in his head that he only got after ten solid hours in bed. Or, on the couch – hence the _particular_ aches and pains he was gingerly trying to stretch out.

…He wasn’t sure about the anxiety, though.

The nagging, _I’ve forgotten something_ feeling… Or the _I’ve done something terrible_ feeling…Or not quite either of those things… But, _something_ -

Rhodey strolled out of the elevator while Tony was still trying to work it out.

“Rough night?” He commented, looking Tony up and down. Tony threw him a playful glare as he smoothed down yesterday’s t-shirt.

“Big project. Worked too long. Slept too long,” he shorthanded, running a hand through his hair. He knew that Rhodey had seen him do this enough times to know exactly what he was talking about.

But it was only as he said it that _Tony_ remembered what he was talking about – what the ‘big project’ was. What the anxiety was. The thing he’d forgotten, the mistake he’d made, the thing he’d been fretting over when he finally crashed out last night. Maybe even the thing he’d been dreaming about. He still didn’t remember anything about it, but now that he thought of it… it just _felt_ like maybe he was dreaming about Steve…

“So, are you going to tell me about it then?” Rhodey demanded, like he could read Tony’s mind. Tony screwed his face up and shook his head.

“Coffee first,” he answered, firmly.

Rhodey huffed impatiently, and then gestured towards the little kitchenette area, _go on then, quick._ Tony felt the oddest urge to smile at that. There was something… _novel_ , about Rhodey wanting to hear gossip from him. Something that felt kind of fun, in the first instance-

But, by the time Tony had made it over to the coffee pot, he’d remembered why it was complicated. The smile became a vaguely irritated frown as all his many issues tried to crowd into his head at once. He told himself that he had to get a grip, and sort all of this out, and think about it properly –

“You’re stalling,” Rhodey called out. Tony sighed, and finally poured two coffees.

“No need to be impertinent, darling,” he called back, hesitating just a few seconds longer – even though he knew it made no sense. That an extra minute wouldn’t make any difference, that he was going to have to talk about it right now, as much as he didn’t want to. Or tell Rhodey he didn’t want to talk about it, which seemed almost as uncomfortable…

But then there was that little tug again. That strange feeling that he kind of… wanted, to talk about it?

And Tony just knew this was one of those things that would be sad, if he really thought about it. Like any of the little things he found to smile about; the positive news stories and the progress of the Avengers and the things that went right for Rhodey and Pepper… Things that could only make him happy if he didn’t stop to analyse them. If he didn’t let himself get as far as thinking that he’d never have it for himself, that he couldn’t really be a part of anything, that no one would ever know what made him smile.

Somewhere, he already knew it was sad to get all excited because he got to play human for a moment. All the things that he thought would be fun became uncomfortable, when there was nowhere for him to go with them.

But, if he _didn’t_ think about it…

“So, what happened?” Rhodey insisted, when Tony finally got to handing him his mug.

“Pepper bullied me into it,” Tony began with a sigh, and then flopped on to the other end of the couch.

“How?” Rhodey frowned, sceptically.

“I don’t know,” Tony groaned, rubbing his eyes again. “ _She_ asked me to see him. It wasn’t like she just said, _Bucky Barnes has asked to see you, and here’s why_ . She said _she_ thought it was a good idea, and, I don’t know… I probably should have put up more of a fight…” he trailed off, and then took a sip of his coffee.

“Why, what went wrong?” Rhodey’s frown deepened.

“Nothing, _yet,_ ” Tony groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “But this is as stupid an idea as it’s ever been, for all the same reasons it always was-”

“So, you’re not done with them yet?” Rhodey interrupted him.

“Well, this is one of the many burdens that comes with great genius,” Tony announced, theatrically. “Unfortunately, I have figured out how to fix this problem, _and_ I am the only person who could possibly fix this problem – _and_ it’s going to take weeks. So, no, I’m not done with this yet. Unless you can think of any way for me to weasel out of it?” He glanced back at Rhodey, hopefully.

“You _want_ to weasel out of this…?” Rhodey asked, raising his eyebrows.

Tony felt that pressure building in his chest again. The struggle to find the right words, the resistance to saying any of them out loud. That same nameless conflict he’d been wrestling with all week… that strange feeling that he didn’t want the things he wanted.

He wanted to talk about this, and he didn’t want to talk about this.

He wanted to help Bucky, and he didn’t want to help Bucky.

He wanted to tell Steve not to come back – and he really, really didn’t want that.

“I _should_ weasel out of this,” Tony muttered, dropping his eyes. “I _shouldn’t_ have said yes in the first place-”

“So, you don’t _want_ to weasel out of this?” Rhodey pressed. Tony felt his jaw tighten.

“I mean, I want to help,” he sighed. “And, obviously, I don’t want to tell Pepper I won’t do literally the one thing she’s asked for in the last twenty years. And I don’t want to tell Barnes, _sorry, you’re fucked_. And I don’t want to tell Steve that his friend is fucked. And, all together, I really wish there was literally anyone else who could do something about this.”

“Steve?” Rhodey questioned, with an interested little smile. It took Tony a second to recognise his own slip up – and then he kicked himself.

“Rogers. I know Pepper told you all about it,” Tony bit out, suddenly feeling very exposed. Only just realising that he _had_ been calling Captain Rogers ‘Steve’ all week…

“Only the boring bit,” Rhodey commented. “Other than _Tony had people over on Friday_ , which was _incredibly_ interesting – after that she only gave me the technical details.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Tony told him, still wincing at the phrase _Tony had people over._ “And, anyway – the technical details are _not_ the boring bit. The project itself is actually really interesting. You know, _technically_ , I’m attempting to design, program and integrate a secondary spinal cord? Well, no, that’s not a good metaphor-”

“And this is _not_ the interesting bit.” Rhodey groaned.

“So, what’s the interesting bit?” Tony surrendered, even though he already knew.

“Okay, so, what are they like?” Rhodey started, excitedly.

“Well, I mostly spoke to Barnes” Tony shrugged – fighting that same urge to smile. “I don’t know, he seems nice. Quiet, and not-nosy, which, you know, are qualities I value… I think he’s actually scared to death of this problem, I think it creeps him out. Which I get, so, mainly I feel sorry for him.”

“And _Steve_?” Rhodey went on far too quickly – and Tony knew he hadn’t managed to answer quickly enough.

“He was okay,” Tony said eventually, his voice stiff. “Also quiet…pretty sure he didn’t like me. I don’t know… I’m thinking maybe that I should just ask Bucky to come on his own next time…”

“So, you didn’t say that already?” Rhodey frowned at him.

“…I didn’t say, specifically, one way or the other,” Tony replied, carefully.

He saw Rhodey bite back a little smile.

“So, you like him then?” Rhodey asked outright.

_Yes_.

“I… don’t even know him” Tony managed, with difficulty. “I couldn’t tell you anything about him. He just – stood there.”

Which wasn’t even a lie.

Tony wasn’t even sure why he _did_ like Steve. Other than the laughably shallow reason that Steve was very pretty…

Or the uncomfortably irrational reason that Tony had felt something in the way Steve looked at him…

And he couldn’t explain that. He couldn’t explain that to _himself_ , much less Rhodey…

It was illogical. Ridiculous. _Dangerous_.

“But, I don’t know, it’s still probably better if I keep it to as few people as possible.” Tony shrugged – which wasn’t a lie, either. “Especially if he’s going to just stand there-”

“But you like him.” Rhodey cut in, an exaggerated confusion on his face…

“I just told you, I don’t know-”

“Tony, I’m not _asking_ you if you like him” Rhodey informed him, confidently. “I know you. I’m _telling you_ – you like him.”

“Well, if you know so much, you want to explain to me _why_ I like him?” Tony huffed.

“So, you like him, but you don’t know why you like him?” Rhodey summarised, and Tony laughed in spite of himself.

“Ah, if only things were ever that simple…” he smiled, sadly. He saw the little flicker of genuine concern behind Rhodey’s eyes – or, even worse, _sympathy_ – and immediately he rushed to put his armour back up.

“Okay, I will admit – he is _very_ pretty” Tony conceded, forcing his voice into a lighter, more conversational tone. “And I am somewhat starved of physical attention, and, yeah… Maybe I have an entirely superficial little crush. But him being the prettiest of all the people I’ve met in the last ten years doesn’t really mean much, does it? And it’s not a good reason to like him – if you think about it, I _don’t_ really like him, I just think I do, because I’m attracted to him. Possibly very attracted to him. Which I shouldn’t be. And wouldn’t be, if I weren’t a recluse, and a total clusterfuck of a person.”

“Okay, no one is denying that you’re a total clusterfuck of a person,” Rhodey delivered it completely straight, which made Tony laugh again. “But liking someone because they’re pretty is not the reason. I know it’s been a while since you met any, but _lots_ of people get that. And, I mean – is it _just_ that?” And he looked at Tony, expectantly.

And Tony knew the answer was no. It wasn’t _just_ that. There was something about Steve Rogers, something in the way he looked at Tony or the way he looked out for Bucky or the fact that he was the one person to get this far in the first place. Some nameless quality that existed in the way Steve held himself, something Tony couldn’t quite see… but he could _feel_.

Something he couldn’t explain.

“There _isn’t_ anything else,” Tony said instead. “That’s what I’m telling you – I really don’t know anything about him. I don’t know if he’s smart, or funny, or aggressive, or, I don’t know, he could be a white supremacist, for all I know.”

“He’s Captain America,” Rhodey reminded him, in the same deadpan tone. “He’s literally the anti-Hitler”

“…Okay, probably not a white supremacist,” Tony accepted with a self-aware little smile. “But you get my point. I don’t know him. In fact, the only thing I can really tell you is that he’s bad at small talk. And sort of uncomfortable to be around – and, if you think about it, kinda pushy. So, you know, he’s probably not even that likeable…” But he was increasingly aware of a dirty feeling crawling over his skin while he said this.

A very basic part of him didn’t enjoy badmouthing Steve.

“Okay, but, counter-point” Rhodey suggested, “What if it turns out that he _is_ actually smart, or funny, or kind – and just kind of bad at small talk. What if, when you get past that, it’s not so uncomfortable to be around him? What then?”

Tony felt it weighing down on him, cold and heavy. That awareness he was always running from, that thing he never wanted to think about – the thing place he _really_ hadn’t wanted to go with this one, he realised now. He didn’t know why, but confronting the reality of _this_ situation felt even more painful than reality usually did.

There was the first stirring of resentment in him then, a prickle of resistance that could have flared up into anger – except that this was Rhodey he was talking to. Rhodey had been his best friend since before Tony was turned. He was the person who’d refused to be shut out, the person who’d been the exact same friend to Tony since they were both freshmen at MIT. Tony could never muster the heat of genuine anger for Rhodey-

Which only left the cold, empty sadness.

“Well, maybe we get talking, and we make each other laugh, and we enjoy each other’s company…” Tony began, his voice heavy and resigned. And then he fixed Rhodey with a serious look, and asked, “What then? What, he comes to visit me here, like a companion for me, or something? How long before he gets bored of that, do you think? This one room, and me with no stories to tell him, because I haven’t been anywhere, and the things I’ve been doing here are gross and disturbing? Do you think I should pretend I’m not a vampire, or tell him all about the blood drinking and watch him try not to flinch. Or worse – _smile_.” He literally shuddered as that final thought occurred to him.

There was nothing in the world that Tony hated more than vampire fetishists. Well, except Obie-

_No._

Tony wouldn’t let himself remember that night. The night Obie decided _for_ him that he should be a vampire… Even when Tony was contemplating the consequences of it, or lamenting the unfairness of it, or living with the hatred he still undeniably felt because of it, Tony still didn’t think back to the source of it. _Ever._ When the occasional flash occurred to him, like a sudden stab wound to his soul, he always flinched away from it. Thought his way around it, acknowledged it without actually thinking about it, shut his brain down completely – whatever it took to avoid going back there. Just knowing it was in his head somewhere was enough to coat Tony’s tongue with a bitter taste.

And the idea that there were people who _got off_ on that – that there were people who objectified and sexualised the worst thing that could possibly happen to anyone-

The idea of _Steve_ being one of those people…

_No._

“So, yeah, he’s either going to hate that I’m a vampire, or he’s not – and the second one is worse,” Tony bit out, feeling increasingly weighed down by all of this. “So, either he’ll run a mile when he finds out, or I’ll kick him out because he didn’t – or I just have to lie to him, and then we’re not talking about anything, are we? _And_ , he ends up at a much bigger risk, being associated with me – _you_ know that.”

And he paused to look at Rhodey, and waited for Rhodey to nod a reluctant acknowledgment. Tony didn’t like to think about how many people had targeted Rhodey, spied on Rhodey, attempted to blackmail or bribe or intimidate Rhodey, all because they wanted to get access to _him_. Because Tony’s self-imposed isolation made him so much more interesting to everyone – and made Rhodey interesting to some especially heartless people.

Tony hated that he did that to Rhodey, and to Pepper. He didn’t want to do it to anyone else.

“It seems a lot to put on the line, to have an awkward conversation, in the same basement, with someone who has nothing to say,” Tony sighed, “And, you know, the fact that I _am_ attracted to him, and nothing can happen – I mean, we’re in the middle of why a simple conversation can’t happen, so obviously nothing more can happen – and that’s not going to be fun, is it? For either of us, probably…” He just trailed off, exhausted by the whole thing.

Rhodey left a little pause. Then he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, obviously gearing up for an in depth response.

“Okay, but, what about,” he began, with gravitas. “ _If_ , he came back, and you did make each other laugh, and you did enjoy each other’s company – and _then:_ ” And Rhodey paused again for emphasis, raising his hands in a dramatic gesture before he added, “that’s _it_.”

Tony blinked at him.

“That’s it?”

“Then you would have just had a couple of interesting, funny conversations, right?” Rhodey pointed out.

“And then?” Tony asked, weary now.

“And _then_ you go back to doing this,” Rhodey gestured to the chaos of the workshop. “Except, this time – it’s after an interesting, funny conversation.”

“Seems like a lot of risk, for an interesting conversation” Tony muttered.

“Again though – he’s Captain America.” Rhodey reminded him. Tony rolled his eyes, and drained his coffee cup. He felt like he should have a lot of arguments to throw back at that… but, honestly, he was more interested in being convinced by what Rhodey was saying.

And what Rhodey just said _wasn’t_ a particularly compelling reason… But Tony so wanted a reason…

“Look, Tony,” Rhodey went on gently, when Tony didn’t say anything. “I know there’s a lot of things you think you can’t have. And – I’m not going to get into that argument again, I promise. But… with everything else you do, it’s only about making it _better_ . I know it’s not about making things perfect, because you never think anything is perfect. You’re always looking for a way to make things that bit better than they were – making other people’s lives that bit happier, or easier, or healthier, even if you can’t help the fact that they’re suffering in the long run. You spent all that time developing better hospital beds, just so that people could still sit themselves up and look out of a window, even when they could barely move. You put all that money into the Injured Troops programme, just so there was more that people _could_ do, whatever they couldn’t do. And you never asked, _what’s the point_ ? You never said, why bother sitting yourself up, if you still need a nurse to do everything else for you, or whatever. So, do you not think, maybe it’s worth just doing a fun thing, however small, just cos it’s _better_? I mean, could it really make everything worse, if you got to enjoy someone’s company for a little while…?”

Tony just looked at Rhodey a moment longer, trying to ignore that vulnerable little feeling in his chest. _Hope_ . Tony knew it was terrible to hope that Rhodey had a point, to hope that his life could be a little bit better – he knew it would hurt all the more when it was crushed. And he knew it would be even worse, if he admitted that hope now. If he actually told Rhodey that he was, for a moment, considering whether he maybe had a point… it would mean _Tony_ couldn’t run from it later. It would make it harder to bury, when reality came rushing back to him, as empty and inevitable and awful as it had ever been…

He should argue with Rhodey now. He probably _could_ argue with Rhodey now – he had twenty years of finely tuned arguments to fall back on-

But he didn’t want to do that either.

“You can relax,” he sighed, “I can’t think of a way to get out of it anyway.”

“Well, good,” Rhodey huffed. “Honestly man, I think it’d be good for you to just _see_ other people. I mean, just that. And _I know_ , I know why you don’t get to do that very basic thing a lot of the time. But, since the chance has come along – I’m glad you’ve not got the chance to sabotage yourself out of it, there I said it.”

“Thanks for that,” Tony muttered, mindlessly. Rhodey just smiled.

“You should shower.”

“Thanks for that” Tony repeated, in the same tone. Rhodey ignored it, and carried on,

“And you should tidy this place up,”

“What, because Steve’s coming over?” Tony asked, pointedly.

“No, because you look like shit, and this place is a mess,” Rhodey answered casually, standing up to leave. Tony snorted a laugh.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

*

Steve pulled up at Tony’s house just after nine that evening. He cut the engine and turned off his phone, exactly the same as he had the first time they came here. And then he let go of a long, slow breath.

God, he was exhausted.

This one day seemed to have taken _weeks_ to pass. And in that time, Steve had run the full gauntlet of human emotions, in no particular order. He’d been nervous. He’d been excited. He’d been resentful and grateful and generically overwhelmed. Mostly, he’d been incredulous that it _still_ wasn’t time to leave. And, now that they were actually _here_ … Steve suddenly felt like this moment had come around all too quickly. Snuck up on him, almost.

“You okay?” Bucky enquired lightly, and Steve winced a smile.

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” he blushed, turning to look Bucky in the eyes “ _Are_ you okay, by the way?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered easily, the vaguest hint of a frown around his eyes – _why wouldn’t I be_ ? And then a blink of recognition, a self-conscious little smile, _oh yeah, the tests._

And Steve knew it was completely genuine.

He could just _see_ that Bucky really had forgotten about the tests, at least for a moment. That he wasn’t anxious – that he’d actually felt comfortable enough to let his mind drift to other things. Steve knew that would never have happened on the ride over to any of their previous doctors.

“I dunno… I guess this is usually where I start to worry about all the things that might happen…” Bucky explained, thoughtfully.

“But you’re not worried about that now?” Steve asked, carefully. And Bucky paused to consider it before he answered.

“I know that some of these tests might be uncomfortable,” he said eventually. “That’s just… how it is. Sometimes medical treatment hurts, and I don’t like… _scientific environments,_ or whatever you want to call them, and, yeah, maybe I’ll have to put up with that. But, I’m not worried about it this time.”

“…Why?” Steve prompted him. He wasn’t sure it was the right question – but he really wanted to know the answer.

“Because usually _we_ have to worry about how uncomfortable it’s going to be, because the doctor won’t,” Bucky seemed to work it out as he was saying it. “But, I don’t know – I think I just trust that this is going to be as good as it can be. That he’d actually explain stuff, and ask me before he did anything, and try to make the whole thing less shit. So, I guess… now there’s no point worrying, or something.” He shrugged again, like it wasn’t a big deal.

But Steve knew exactly what Bucky meant – and he knew, it was a _huge_ deal. In fact, this was the first time Steve had recognised what a huge deal it was for _him_. That this was the first time he hadn’t felt entirely responsible for making sure Bucky got treated like a human being. That he wasn’t listing all the points he had to make the doctors aware of, because they hadn’t asked, and wouldn’t ask. That he wasn’t thinking back over a catalogue of casual cruelties from the last appointment, trying to judge how he’d pre-empt them this time around.

Because Tony _had_ asked all the right questions.

Whatever social faux pas Steve had spent the last week obsessing over, Tony hadn’t done anything cruel to Bucky.

Tony _did_ treat Bucky like a human being… And, already, Bucky trusted him to.

_Steve_ trusted him.

_Don’t get carried away with this – you don’t like him, remember?_

Steve kicked himself for that, as they finally got out of the car. He reminded himself that he didn’t _not_ like Stark, either. Steve had spent a big part of this _endless_ day having a very sensible, entirely rational talk with himself about this whole situation, and he’d come up with a perfectly level-headed compromise. He had _worked this out_. 

He didn’t dislike Tony Stark. Of course he didn’t. Tony Stark had sacrificed his time, and stepped out of his comfort zone, just to help them. He _was_ the first person to treat Bucky with any respect. And, objectively speaking, he was clearly very intelligent, and industrious, and those were obviously good qualities to have. 

Steve had been sure to chasten himself appropriately for ever saying he _didn’t_ like Tony Stark – he’d called himself childish, and reactionary, and defensive. Steve had reminded himself that, if Stark _was_ uncomfortable to be around… Well, maybe that was to be expected, under the circumstances. And as Steve didn’t really know the circumstances, he should know better than to judge. That it was unreasonable – _unkind._

And Steve had assured himself that if, in spite of all this analysis, he found himself disliking Stark again, he would ignore it. He would act as if that impulse wasn’t there, because it shouldn’t be.

And – just as important – he didn’t _like_ Tony Stark either. This immediate interest, and this intense attraction, were just as irrational. In the interest of being fair, Steve also had to note that Stark _had_ stared at him rather rudely, when they first walked in. That he had said, somewhat bluntly, _well, Pepper said that I had to_ . Even that… _objectively_ speaking… Stark hadn’t bothered with any of the thousands of people who’d begged for his help in the last twenty years… And Steve wasn’t judging that. He wasn’t. He just had to keep in mind that Stark hadn’t done anything to justify this level of obsession. That, as important and generous as Stark’s help was, it didn’t make him any better than a lot of people Steve knew. That there was no reason to think they’d get on, if they did spend time together…

Even if it sometimes _felt_ like Steve liked him…

But, no. He’d done all this once today. He’d decided. Stark was probably just a nice enough guy, who was smart and hard working – _like a lot of the people Steve was friends with_ – and who had been good enough to do them a favour. He was also kind of rude, and obviously had a limit as to how far he would go to help others… And beyond that, Steve didn’t know him at all. But he had no reason to think he’d like him, as a person, if he did.

And no reason to judge him either way.

Also, he was hot.

Steve made sure to ignore that last observation, as he and Bucky stepped into the elevator. He swallowed as subtly as he could, and tried to breathe through a sudden lightness in his chest. Again, he tried to think his way out of these feelings. He made himself remember everything he’d decided that afternoon. He told himself that he’d get over this before too long… _surely_?

The elevator came to a soft stop beneath their feet and the doors slid open. Bucky strode out, confidently… and Steve hesitated for maybe half a second. Just enough time to tell himself he was being ridiculous.

_You’re Captain America-_

_Screw that – you’re a fully-grown man._

_He’s not even_ _that_ _attractive._

_Get over it, get on with it – get out of the damn elevator, for fuck’s sake._

So, Steve walked out into the workshop, a step behind Bucky, _deliberately_ holding his head up. Still too busy telling himself off to actively look for Stark-

And then he saw him.

Steve looked away immediately – he literally looked at the floor, the way he would have if he’d walked in on something obscene. And as soon as he did it, he knew it was wrong. That it was obvious, and awkward, and probably seemed rude… But it was just an instinct. His only thought was _don’t stare this time_ … And this was just what he’d done instead.

And, to make matters worse, Steve still hadn’t brought himself to look up again.

_Jesus, he really is_ _that_ _attractive._

Not that Steve had got much of a look… But it was enough to know that Stark was wearing a black shirt, and that his eyes really _were_ as big as Steve remembered them, and that he’d been smiling when they walked in-

“Hey. Come in, have a seat,” Tony told them, casually… At least, Steve thought it was ‘casually.’ Maybe it was friendly… or, maybe, it had sounded impatient and kinda blunt, actually…

_Stop it._

He forced his mind quiet. He simply put a hard stop on all of it, and focused on his breathing. He _made_ himself look up… relieved to find that Tony had turned away from him, to gesture towards the couch on the left-hand side of the room. Steve followed Bucky to sit, awkwardly, at one end of it – leaving as much room as he could at the other.

And then Tony came over and sat cross legged on the floor in front of them.

Steve fought the urge to look away again. He told himself that it _wasn’t_ especially attractive or endearing for Tony to have flopped down onto the floor like that… like a big kid… That there was no basis for this reaction – this sudden impulse to smile.

Steve bit it back and forced himself to keep looking in Tony’s general direction. For the time being, he was more grateful than resentful that Tony seemed entirely focused on Bucky.

“Okay, so, the good news is, turns out I don’t have to do as many tests as I thought,” Tony began, brightly. “I managed to get a lot of the details I need from your previous scans. There are just a few things that no one tested for yet… and a few places where I don’t trust their tests.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, the first question is what do I need to know,” Tony corrected, and waved a hologram into life in the space between them.

And Steve told himself that there _wasn’t_ anything especially irritating or pretentious about that, that it was too soon to accuse Stark of posturing – that there was no rational basis for _this_ reaction, either…

“So, the first thing is that none of your bloodwork has been comprehensive enough – no one has done the right tests. And there isn’t really much choice about how we do that one, so, if you have a problem with needles… the best I can do is put you out first,” Tony shrugged.

“I’m fine with needles,” Bucky smiled.

“Good,” Tony smiled back. “The other thing is, I’m going to need to know about the composition and pressure of your spinal fluid. The simplest way of getting that is a lumbar puncture – but those are painful. Lots of people don’t like those. The other option is to let JARVIS do a scan – but that involves sitting in a machine, a bit like an MRI machine, for about forty-five minutes. I mean, it’s not _quite_ as claustrophobic as an MRI machine, or as noisy. But really, it depends on which of those ideas you hate least.”

“Er, well, I don’t have a… problem, with either of those things…” Bucky began, a little hesitantly. And Steve felt his stomach knot as he translated the true meaning of those words… _neither of those things are ‘HYDRA’ things…_ “Are either of them, I don’t know, _better_? For what you need to know?”

“Uh, honestly… Probably the lumbar puncture,” Tony answered, thoughtfully. “I take it you never had one before?” 

“Amazingly, no,” Bucky sighed, “I must’ve had everything _else_ …” And Tony smiled again.

He really did have the most… _compelling_ smile.

Intriguing.

_Infuriating_.

“Okay, so, this is how it works…” Tony started, selecting and enhancing a little corner of his hologram – a video of a lumbar puncture procedure.

Steve felt a little lift inside him, something it took him a second to name… he was _touched_ . Which seemed a strange reaction, now that he thought of it… But that’s definitely what it was. The fact that Tony had thought to have a video ready, that he’d given as much thought to explanation as he had the procedure. It all seemed part of a very… _human_ gesture of kindness. More real, more personal, than Tony’s professional offer to help in the first place.

_You are making too much of this._

_It’s an act of kindness – it’s not literally the sweetest thing anyone ever did._

_It’s not that big a deal, you’re just making it into one._

“Any questions?” Tony asked, snapping Steve out of his thoughts.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Bucky replied, glancing up at Steve. Steve just shook his head.

“And you’re still okay with this one?” Tony clarified, and Bucky nodded.

“I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he added quietly.

“Well, there are a lot of options for pain relief-” Tony began, but Bucky cut him off,

“Oh, no. No thanks.”

Steve felt himself step back into the room. His self-interested obsession was set aside, along with everything else, as he remembered all the things he was usually focused on from the outset. The things he knew Bucky was afraid of. The things they always had to argue about. They’d avoided all of that so far, because Tony had let Bucky lead the conversation – but Steve knew there was no way that Tony would just accept this one. No one did. Most people took it for granted that Bucky would want to be numbed, some even went as far as administering things without telling him – and every single one of them argued, when Bucky said he didn’t want it. They all made him struggle to explain his resistance, they always made him feel ridiculous for his objections, and most of the time they ended up getting their own way. Steve could see the entire conversation unfolding in front of him. He knew every beat off by heart-

“Okay,” Tony nodded. There was a little flicker of scepticism behind his eyes, or surprise, or confusion, _I think that’s a strange choice_ -

But he let Bucky make it. Just like that.

“Okay…?” Bucky repeated, sounding somewhat dazed.

“Well, it’s up to you,” Tony told him, still dubious. “I mean, it doesn’t affect the procedure one way of the other. It’s just to make you more comfortable. So, I guess, if it doesn’t make you more comfortable…” And the confusion melted away as he spoke, and Steve could just see him thinking it, _actually, I guess that isn’t a strange choice._

_Okay, fine, I like him._

Steve just heard it, loud and unambiguous in his head. No way to unthink it. No way to deny it. So, he simply acknowledged it, stoically, and waited for the wave of frustration and confusion that must surely follow. Telling himself he should at least _try_ to wait until he got home, before he began analysing this whole thing again from scratch…

But then he realised… he wasn’t frustrated.

He wasn’t confused.

He was _relieved_.

And Steve was sure he’d be infuriated by this later, that he’d eventually remember all the reasons it was inappropriate and complicated and unfortunate… But in the moment, it actually made everything seem much _less_ confusing.

Just looking at Tony, and thinking, _I like you_ … took a lot less mental effort. It felt less _uncomfortable._ For the first time since he first walked into this workshop, Steve felt himself relax a little.

“So, that’s what you’re going to do now?” He asked, his voice sounding like his own at last. Tony glanced up at him, his eyes flashing gold under the lights before they settled, deep and dark, on Steve. Steve felt his breath catch in his throat… but even that wasn’t _quite_ so jarring, now. It felt slightly more natural, when he wasn’t pretending the warm feeling in his stomach wasn’t there – when he didn’t have to force it into a theory that was patently false.

“Actually, I was going to start with the blood work,” Tony answered, looking between Steve and Bucky as he spoke. “You probably aren’t going to feel like doing that after the spinal tap. C’mon.” And he stood up in a fluid motion, and nodded toward the elevator again, “There is a med lab on the next floor up. If we’re drawing blood we should go somewhere cleaner than this.”

Steve smiled, casting an eye over the workshop before he stood up to leave-

It looked pretty clean to him.

*

Performing a lumbar puncture on someone who refuses pain relief is a huge personal responsibility – but it does at least have a sobering effect.

Whatever social anxieties Tony had been struggling with were pushed _right_ back, as he focused on reading the discomfort in Bucky’s posture, and keeping his hands very steady. He barely heard himself, describing everything he was doing and giving a running countdown until they were through, his voice unnaturally calm. By the end of it, he’d _even_ forgotten that Steve was standing just behind him, watching everything he did…

And then, _finally,_ Tony got to announce that they were done. He stood back swiftly and turned away, only thinking of giving Bucky space-

And there was Steve.

Tony almost flinched away from it, purely out of surprise. Surprise that Steve was still here, surprise that he’d managed to stop thinking about him – surprise that the reaction was just as sudden and just as intense, even though he’d been quite happily ignoring the same man a few seconds earlier-

But Tony managed to contain it. He remembered that he’d made an ass of himself the last time Steve took him by surprise, that he’d _sworn_ he’d control himself the next time. So he made himself keep his head upright – for long enough to realise that Steve wasn’t looking at him right now. Steve was looking over Tony’s shoulder, his eyes following Bucky’s movement, softening in sympathy as Bucky slowly sat himself upright. Tony could tell that, for the moment, Steve didn’t know that Tony _was_ looking at him. Steve had probably forgotten that he was even there…

That made it so much easier to keep looking. Suddenly it seemed _very_ easy to look at Steve… and it wasn’t only that he was beautiful. Steve was just so _honest_ in that moment. He wasn’t bothering to hide his concern or his sympathy or his pride – and he didn’t bother to dress any of it up. He wasn’t making sure Tony saw any of this, or thinking about how it would come across, or mentally collecting brownie points for being so considerate… he just _was._ And Steve being so easy to read made it so much… _nicer_ , to read him. It felt comfortable, and natural, and _safe_ , watching Steve think. Just _seeing_ him. Being a part of this very human moment, no matter how distantly.

It did feel better.

It didn’t fix anything, and it couldn’t go anywhere, and maybe it _would_ make Tony think about all the things he couldn’t have, when he thought back to this moment later…

But maybe it _would_ be nice, to have something to think about later. Maybe it would be nice for there to be something besides all the things he couldn’t have.

Even if it _was_ just a few happy memories, a handful of moments that made him smile… a few reminders of why he liked human beings, a chance to see it for himself.

Maybe it would be _better._

And then Steve glanced up at him – and still, it was easy to keep looking. Maybe it helped that Steve seemed more relaxed, since they actually started on the tests… the fact that Steve smiled so naturally made it easier for Tony to do the same. Tony didn’t feel the need to drop his eyes, this time.

“Thank you,” Steve said, his tone tinted with a soft sort of sadness.

“Always happy to stab someone in the spine,” Tony joked – and Steve actually laughed. A warm, musical sound that Tony liked very much… That he was glad he got to hear, just once.

“So, what happens now?” Steve asked, still smiling. Glancing between Tony and Bucky, who was still finding his feet.

“Well, I’ll have to run the tests before I know the specifics, but it’s going to take a few more appointments,” Tony explained. “I’ll go through the details when Bucky is in the mood to listen, but, basically, it’s going to involve a lot of smaller procedures. There’s just no way to do this thing except a step at a time – his body is going to have to learn each upgrade separately…” Tony had to stop himself from getting carried away with the technical details.

“Okay,” Steve nodded, and let go of a heavy breath. Tony could _see_ him thinking his way through the next few weeks. Tony could see the worry, and the determination, and the optimism, in those subtle little changes on his face. It made Tony want to reach out to him. It filled him with a sudden urge to help, to make this better.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think any of the other treatments are going to be as bad as that was. Some of them might be time consuming, and boring, but…” he shrugged. And then he watched Steve smile again, and nod another thank you… and blush, just a little…

And then he frowned.

“I meant to ask…I, uh, didn’t mean to invite myself along to all of this, last time…” Steve started, sounding awkward again. “I mean… we’re both just really grateful for what you’re doing, and the fact that you’re happy to have me here if Bucky’s having surgery is… another kindness, so I just – if you’d rather me not be here the rest of the time-”

“No, it’s fine,” Tony cut in, somewhat surprising himself and then having to rush to catch up, “I mean, whatever is going to make it easier, in the long run – if he’d rather have you here… or, if… you’d rather be here, or whatever – I don’t mind, either way.”

Well, that was all very uncomfortable. 

But… Steve smiled again.

A smaller smile, more polite than friendly – but Tony was fairly sure that was a yes.

And that would do. 


	5. Including art by Snowzapped

Their first appointment was scheduled for a few nights later, on what turned out to be a pretty dismal Monday evening. By the time Steve and Bucky arrived the rain was running down the lab windows in sheets, and the room was filled with a vaguely comforting drumming sound.

Tony was quite proud of how naturally he was able to welcome them this time. How well he managed to ignore the fact that Steve’s hair was wet…

But, now that Tony had some real work to focus on, everything was a little bit easier. He could direct events more confidently, now that this was a scientific procedure rather than a social interaction. He knew in advance that he could always fill an awkward silence with a bit of technical detail. He could think ahead to the next question, the next task, the next checkpoint.

This was the first time since they’d started this thing that Tony didn’t feel completely lost.

In fact, after a few stilted comments about the weather, things actually began to move quite fluidly. Tony heard himself telling Bucky where to sit and Steve where to stand, without panicking over every individual word. He wasn’t thinking a thousand different things, when he was gathering his tools and arranging his workspace. This part of things felt natural to him… and somehow, having other people here didn’t make it all completely different. Not this time.

After half an hour or so, Tony might even have slipped into _enjoying_ himself… By then, the three of them had fallen into a comfortable sort of quiet – which Tony barely noticed. His work for today was delicate, and fiddly; tiny little amendments done with very fine movements and needle tipped tools. Tony was so focused on that one connection in Bucky’s arm, thinking so deep into the theory behind it, that he’d forgotten there were other people in the room-

Or, even more amazingly, he’d forgotten that there weren’t _supposed_ to be.

There really were a few moments when Tony just… was. He wasn’t play acting, he wasn’t making it happen, he wasn’t even taking the time to appreciate it.

And then there was a loud _crack_ of thunder, that seemed to come from right outside the house.

Tony tightened every muscle in his body to keep himself from flinching. He felt Bucky hold his breath. Then Tony loosened his grip on the built-for-purpose tweezers he’d been using, and leant away, and relaxed his arms. Taking a moment to recentre and reset himself before he tried again-

Then the sky outside flashed brilliant white, so bright that even Captain America jumped. And then another crash of thunder, even louder, and a theatrical howl of wind.

Tony had to pinch back a little smile. There was something surreal about that, something fundamentally _silly_ about how dramatic it was… An image immediately jumped into Tony’s mind, fully formed, and he very nearly laughed at it. He nearly _said it out loud._ It was only at the very last moment that he remembered, _no – insensitive._

_Probably._

So he bit his lip harder, and forced a slow breath out through his nose, and glanced up at Bucky. Trying to think of something sensible to say instead-

And found that Bucky was biting back a smile too.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, when he caught the questioning look in Tony’s eyes, “I just keep expecting you to laugh maniacally and yell, _he’s alive-_ ”

“ _Oh my God, I so nearly did,”_ just fell out of Tony’s mouth.

And then an immediate stab of panic.

He was _supposed_ to be being sensitive, and understanding and professional.

He’d warned himself not to make jokes – not to try _anything_ too human. Too far outside his comfort zone, his area of understanding.

He was suddenly aware of the trance he’d slipped into. The fact that he’d not bothered to scan all of his words before he said them, that he’d not been _careful_ -

And then, to his left, he heard Steve stifle a laugh.

When Tony looked over, he saw that Steve had dropped his head and covered his mouth with his hand… But Tony could still see him smiling. Steve was just one of those people that smiled with their whole body; it was there in the shape of his shoulders and the blush running up his neck and the slight crinkle in his eyes, even when he’d closed them.

“Sorry,” Steve breathed, in that very controlled way of someone trying not to laugh again.

“You can shut up,” Bucky told him, casually. “You know that makes you the Igor here, right?”

Another giggle bubbled over Steve’s lips. Bucky grinned at him, somewhere between amused and smug. And then Bucky looked back at Tony, and Tony had that brief panic of what he was ‘supposed’ to do with his face…only to realise that he was already smiling.

Just…smiling. Because it was funny, or happy, or just kind or nice.

And that was…

Better.

*

The second appointment was the first time Bucky had to be put under a general anaesthetic – and Steve was more nervous about it than he was.

Partly, it was the legitimate nervousness he always felt on Bucky’s behalf during medical procedures – especially when it came to sedation, and pain relief.

Steve knew that Bucky hated the idea of going under a general anaesthetic. Even though he never felt like he could complain about it, because it had always been his treatment of choice. Steve could see it, in that resigned little shrug Bucky gave – _What am I gonna say? I_ _asked_ _them to knock me out._

But only because the other option was so much worse.

Bucky had always been clear that anything was preferable to being numbed. And, as with all lived experience, it had always been difficult for him to explain… but the simplest answer was that HYDRA had never sedated him for surgery. HYDRA had always favoured the quickest, cheapest route when it came to the repairs – which meant numbing Bucky’s torso so that he wouldn’t move, and making him watch while they worked.

And Bucky had said that, of _everything_ , those times might’ve been the worst. The moments when his true mind felt closer to the surface, when it felt as though it was just _him_ sitting there, frozen inside a body that he couldn’t control. Those were the moments when Bucky was most aware of the horrors he was living through, and his own helplessness against them. Moments when he felt his own limbs hanging from his body like stone, cold and unresponsive and alien to him… Like an allegory for his entire existence.

And the issue had been less of an issue this time, thanks to Tony. At least Tony hadn’t spent the last two weeks suggesting alternative painkillers, like the team at NASA did – repeatedly missing the point that Bucky _did not want to be numbed at all_. Or demanded Bucky explain the difference between a general anaesthetic and being cryogenically frozen, like that nurse in Oslo – as though Bucky’s traumas weren’t valid if they couldn’t be defended objectively. At least, this time, no one had done anything to make things worse before they could even start being shit in the first place.

But that didn’t mean this whole thing wasn’t shit. Just because Bucky was more comfortable than he would usually be, it didn’t mean he was comfortable. Just because it was the least-worst option, didn’t mean he didn’t hate a thousand things about it.

And Steve could see all of that, and therefore Steve was nervous for him. Anxious for Bucky’s ordeal to be over, willing this to go as smoothly as possible-

It _was_ partly that.

…And, yes, _partly,_ it was the fact that this would be the first time he was ‘alone’ with Tony Stark.

Steve managed to ignore that thought, for as long as it took Bucky to fall under. Pointedly concentrating on his anxiety for Bucky – he felt better about feeling bad about that.

And then he relaxed just a little, when he realised that Bucky wasn’t aware of anything anymore, that at least he didn’t have to worry about Bucky being worried… Which, usually, was Steve’s cue to start worrying about everything else. When he’d start looking nervously between the monitors and the doctors, as though he could prevent a catastrophe if he was watching when it happened-

But he trusted Tony.

He didn’t feel like he had to supervise Tony – he felt _sure_ that Tony would pay attention, and think of everything, and be very careful.

When he watched Tony work, Steve wasn’t looking for mistakes or oversights. He was just watching Tony’s hands. Beautiful hands, fast and delicate…like an artist…

Oh… He was alone with Tony…

Steve felt it closing in on him. The fluttering feeling rising higher in his chest. The increased awareness of his own skin. The fluidity of his thoughts, the way his observations and interpretations and daydreams ran away from him – which seemed entirely inappropriate, under the circumstances… But so natural. So hard to fight.

Suddenly, Steve felt like a lovestruck teenager, watching his crush from the side lines – not sure whether he wanted Tony to notice him or not. Not sure whether he was delighted for this chance to be with Tony or desperate to get out of it. If this felt strange, or bad, or…not.

And then Tony was standing up. Stepping away from Bucky. Putting his tools down and dropping his shoulders.

…He was finished?

Steve blinked, and dropped his eyes – _just_ in time that Tony didn’t catch him staring. He hoped.

But he could feel Tony moving closer. Steve scrabbled to shift his mind out of daydream-mode, as all of his muscled tensed in preparation for something… for _actually_ being alone with him-

Oh, God, he couldn’t think of a _single_ thing to say.

He’d forgotten _all_ words-

“He should start to wake up in about ten minutes, give or take,” Tony spoke, softly. “There shouldn’t be too much recovery time. He might be kind of sleepy tonight, but he’ll be fine by tomorrow. He might want to cry off, if you have something especially difficult planned…”

And Steve had to really concentrate, to think what they had scheduled for tomorrow. He only made the effort because he thought it might be _something_ he could talk about…

But then he did remember, and his shoulders slumped.

“Depends what you mean by difficult…” Steve muttered. Tony raised his eyebrows in a friendly, questioning gesture – and, even though it would be a tedious topic of conversation, Steve grabbed at it with both hands. “We have to meet with the new Washington liaison. He wants to talk to us about _our shared mission statement_.”

Steve was gratified when Tony winced at that, glad that he seemed to have the same reaction to it as Steve had.

“Which wouldn’t be _that_ bad,” Steve dared to carry on. “But this guy is just… _the_ most difficult person to talk to.”

“Oh, wait, this is Jerry Hallan, isn’t it?” Tony smiled. “I’ve seen his name in the government reports.”

“That’s him.”

“… And I think I’ve seen him interviewed,” Tony carried on, thoughtfully. “Takes everything _very_ seriously, and is _oh so_ earnest?”

Steve laughed softly, his whole body relaxing with it. He realised that actually talking to Tony wasn’t nearly as difficult as thinking about it had been. Steve felt a gentle stirring of hope, that maybe he was finally finding his feet with this thing-

Which was extinguished completely, when Tony added,

“Acts like he’s already decided he wants Orlando Bloom to play him in the biopic?”

And, oh, Steve knew he should know that name. He _did_ know that name – it was buried in there somewhere, among all the millions of pop culture references he’d tried to catch up on in the last year. But there was no frame of reference, no mental image or association. No way to know what joke Tony was making.

Steve felt his smile fade. He took a little breath, and did his best to conceal the painful twist in his gut. To ignore all the disappointed, critical voices in his head.

_I will_ _never_ _be able to talk like a normal person in this world_

_I’ve been here a year, I shouldn’t still be this clueless_

_He’s going to think I’m completely ignorant_

_We were_ _almost_ _having a real conversation_

_Who am I kidding – I’m never going to be able to have a real conversation._

This little interaction was a perfect analogy for that void Steve still felt, that specific sadness that seemed to soak _out_ of him sometimes… like it was always buried in him somewhere. That distance. That loneliness. The fact that he would’ve liked _so_ much to just be able to laugh at that, to be able to continue the joke – to stay in the moment.

“Sorry, not familiar” He managed, barely above a whisper. Already braced for the shocked exclamation – _you’ve never heard of Orlando Bloom?_ Or a very slow and patronising explanation. Or a joke at his expense.

But Tony barely paused. There was only the slightest flicker of thought before he corrected himself, so very casually,

“Oh, it’s like… he’s already decided he wants to be played by Tyrone Powers, or something.”

And Steve just burst out laughing.

Not even at the joke Tony had been making. It was just so far from what he’d expected Tony to say – Steve was so surprised to hear _anyone_ say that name. It was a laugh of recognition, and nostalgia, a laugh for no other reason than,

“God, I’ve not heard anyone talk about Tyrone Powers in – years,” he explained, still giggling. “I’d forgotten he even existed.”

“Everyone has,” Tony shrugged. And, with that, Steve realised…

Yeah, everyone _had_ forgotten about Tyrone Powers.

Steve _hadn’t_ seen that name anywhere, not once, since he woke up in the 21st Century…

“But you’ve heard of him.”

And Steve saw the self-conscious little smile. The way Tony dropped his eyes briefly before he answered,

“I’ve heard of everyone.”

An entirely different kind of smile warmed through Steve, at that. Something deeper and more meaningful. He was _happy_ , thinking of Tony knowing that reference…

He was _touched._

Steve was sure that Tony _hadn’t_ heard of Tyrone Powers, a few weeks earlier. And not only because no one from this century had heard of him. Steve could see it in Tony’s reaction. Slightly shy and a little bit embarrassed and mostly hopeful…

Like he’d been caught out doing something nice.

… _you’d have to read a lot of stuff about the 1940s, to get to a reference that obscure._

“So, what happened to him then?” Steve smiled, “Tyrone Powers?”

“I have no idea,” Tony replied, natural and friendly and interested. “I mean, I know he was _huge_ for a while, and then everyone just forgot about him. I don’t think there was a scandal or anything,” He shrugged. “It’s like, no one ever mentions Barbara Stanwyck anymore, but she was still working until the 1980s…”

And just like that, Steve _was_ having a real conversation. A natural, pleasant, _fun_ conversation, in which he could answer as many questions as he had to ask. A conversation he felt a part of, rather than a spectator to. Something that felt _real_.

It wasn’t until it was over – all too soon – that Steve realised just how unusual that was. How _nice_ that was.

How sad he was to walk away from it.

*

Steve arrived at the third appointment looking vaguely distracted.

He’d smiled when he walked in, and traded a bit of casual small talk, much more relaxed than he had been just a few weeks earlier… but Tony still felt like there was something. Something Steve wasn’t saying, some other train of thought that he was trying to ignore….

Tony fought the urge to ask about it. He reminded himself that, just because they’d had one pleasant chat about forties pop culture, it didn’t mean he had any right to ask Steve personal questions.

He had to remind himself that he was out of practice when it came to human interaction. That he was trying to _avoid_ personal conversation, for all sorts of reasons-

And he had to keep _telling_ himself that, because it just wasn’t coming naturally anymore.

Tony didn’t _feel_ anxious or unsure around Steve now. When he thought back to the conversation they’d had last week – a conversation that _wasn’t_ about anything of substance, and hadn’t told him much about Steve, and was hardly enough to catch Tony up on the decades of social interaction he’d missed – still, Tony just felt like it would be like that again. That Steve was easy to talk to. That Tony _did_ know how to do this after all…

But, of course, that made no sense.

So, he ignored the way Steve’s eyes seemed to settle in the middle distance. He bit it back, every time _are you okay?_ almost fell over his lips. He made a point of talking about the evening’s treatment, filling the silence with technical details and neutral observations, right up until Bucky was sitting on the examination table.

Then he fell quiet for a few moments, while he removed one of the panels from Bucky’s shoulder, and began untangling the chaos of wires beneath. There was the tricky task of replacing some of them, and then the even more delicate task of wiring the tiny little circuit board into the system. But even while Tony was so focused on what he was doing, he was still aware of Steve standing behind him… being sad…

“Right, so I’m going to set this to run for a minute, and then check the data to make sure it’s doing what it should be,” Tony explained, as he sat back from his work. “No point putting everything back together, if we’re just going to have to do this all over again in a minute…” he gestured awkwardly towards the missing panel on Bucky’s arm, _I_ _am_ _going to fix that._

“Sure, no problem,” Bucky smiled, glancing up with interest as Tony waved a hologram into life beside them.

Tony spent a few minutes watching the numbers, running mental calculations and thinking back to his hypothesis… and then the little surge of satisfaction, as he felt it all fall into place. The equations balancing out, the patterns all locking together – he loved that feeling.

And then he looked up at Steve, who was so obviously lost inside his own head…

“Are you okay?”

Tony didn’t even bother to kick himself for it. Now that he’d said it, he realised the inevitability of it – that he was _always_ going to ask Steve if he was alright, so there wasn’t really any point in getting all tied up over it.

And then Steve glanced up. He managed a self-aware little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and a shake of his head,

“Sorry,” he murmured, looking between Tony and the floor. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… a bad day at work,” he shrugged.

“Something happened?” Tony asked, and then looked at Bucky. And Bucky pinched his lips together, and fixed Tony with a loaded stare, and then nodded oh-so-subtly in Steve’s direction.

_This is his thing._

_You should talk to him_.

_Go on, ask him_.

Tony looked back at Steve.

“No, nothing like that,” Steve assured him. “It’s just… I had to meet with the legal people today, about the Maximoff twins. And it was deeply irritating. That’s all.”

“Is there a problem?” Tony frowned, trying to remember all the details from the Maximoff file. He knew there _were_ issues, a few months ago, when the Maximoffs first joined the Avengers. Arguments between politicians, about whether they had committed a crime by volunteering for Strucker’s experiments, and if they were suitable to be Avengers, and whether the government should get a say in that anyway. But, as far as Tony knew, most of that had finally been ironed out. The meeting today should really have been a box ticking exercise…

“No,” Steve exhaled. “No, actually, it was probably one of the more efficient meetings we’ve had…”

And Tony just raised his eyebrows at him, _But…?_

“It’s just the way everyone there talks about them,” Steve sighed. “Everyone was using the word ‘unnatural’ today – like a memo had gone out that it was the correct term, or something. Like it’s the thing you’re _supposed_ to say instead of ‘weird’, or…” He seemed to catch himself, just as he was getting carried away. “Sorry,” he said again, dropping his eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” Tony smiled. He almost said _it’s good_ … And he didn’t know why it was good, that Steve was talking like this – but he knew it was.

“Steve hates the word unnatural” Bucky informed Tony, in a pointed tone. Prompting the conversation ahead.

“I do hate the word unnatural,” Steve conceded, with a little wince.

“How come?” Tony asked, giving his hologram one final look over before he closed it down.

“Because it doesn’t mean anything,” Steve answered, with a little more passion in his voice. “There is no actual criteria for that word. People just use it to describe things that they don’t like, or that are outside of their comfort zone. Except that, if they said, _this thing makes me feel bad, I don’t like it, make it go away_ , it’d sound like they were the one with the problem, like they were being entitled and unkind. Which they are, but they don’t want to sound like that – so they call it _unnatural_ , and suddenly it’s a legitimate objection. They label another person as something horrible, just because it ‘doesn’t feel right’ to them, essentially.”

“This rant can run to over three hours,” Bucky added, sardonically, and Steve huffed a little laugh.

“It’s not going to, though,” he surrendered, showing the room his palms. “I’m shutting up, honest.”

“Well, no, you don’t – have to…” Tony cut in just a bit too quickly, faltering when Steve’s gaze snapped to meet his. “…It’s an interesting concept, I mean. And, uh, I think you’re right, for what it’s worth…” He trailed off, awkwardly.

“I don’t know it’s just…” Steve started, and then paused to frown at Tony, _you’re sure you want me to get into this?_ And Tony just hoped it showed on his face, how very much he’d like Steve to get into this… “They were talking about how we discourage other people from seeking such _unnatural_ enhancements, and why the Avengers can’t try to gain an edge through such _unnatural_ experiments, and what would happen if such _unnatural_ behaviour was normalised – and they mean ‘harmful’. Or ‘dangerous’. Or they should. They should be able to point to a reason the world would be worse off if these enhancements were allowed, or why it’s unfair, or whatever – and the thing is, I actually agree with all that. I think experiments like Strucker’s should be banned. But not because they contravene some made up ‘law of nature’.”

“And it makes a difference to you, what they call it,” Tony observed with a smile. Pleased it made a difference to Steve. Pleased that Steve saw the world this way…

“I just think it makes a difference to _them_ ,” Steve explained. “Or, I mean, I don’t know if either of them care, actually – but I mean it makes a difference… about them? If you say, _we’re banning these experiments because they are harmful and dangerous_ , you put the blame on the person who did the experiment. And you pass judgement on one event that happened. And you accept that it’s a practical judgement, based on what you think would be best for your society, as people. But when you say _unnatural,_ you make it sound like there is something wrong with _them_ . Like they _shouldn’t be_ , or something. You pass judgement on their existence. And you’re claiming it's in defence of what is _right_ , like you have the endorsement of some greater authority when you make a regular-old-human-value judgement… I know it’s just a word, but it _does_ make a difference,” he finished with another shrug.

For a second or two, Tony couldn’t answer him. But it wasn’t because he couldn’t think of a response, or even because he was worrying about the response he _should_ give – this time, it was simply that he had _so_ much he wanted to say, and he just couldn’t decide what to go with.

He wanted to tell Steve to just keep talking, that this whole area of discussion was captivating and thought-provoking and _interesting_ , that he wanted _more_ of this-

He wanted to explore these ideas, he wanted to ask Steve questions and give him hypothetical scenarios and posit counter arguments, just to push it further.

He wanted to agree, eagerly, and add his own examples.

And then he realised _why_ this had grabbed his attention so completely – and, in the first instance, Tony wanted to tell Steve that, too.

He wanted to say, _I have spent the last twenty years thinking of myself as unnatural, and thinking Obie turned me into something_ _wrong,_ _and never even realised – and, you know what, I think maybe you’re right_ -

He wanted to ask… _So, you_ _really_ _aren’t frightened, or disgusted, or even excited, by the things other people call unnatural_ …?

And he couldn’t ask that, obviously…

But it meant something, that he wanted to.

“You’re absolutely right,” Tony smiled. And then added, casually, “And it’s _our_ lawyers, that you were talking to, today?”

“Yeah, well, the Avengers legal team,” Steve frowned, _yeah, I know, they should know better._

“Hm,” Tony nodded, sitting down next to Bucky and picking up his tools again. “Well, it doesn’t fix the real issue, I know – but, for what it’s worth, I can promise you _they’ll_ never use that word again.”

He was too focused on the work he was doing to see the way Steve smiled at that.

*

By the time of the fourth appointment, Steve had stopped pretending they weren’t the highlight of his week.

He still felt guilty about it, of course. Every so often, he’d ask himself what sort of friend would be counting down the minutes until Bucky’s next operation, or spend more time thinking about the doctor’s smile than the technical details… And the answer was _this_ sort of friend, apparently.

Because no matter how many times he reminded himself what he should be feeling, Steve still just felt like this. He’d tried to force a more sensible set of priorities into his head, but his mind just defaulted right back to Tony the moment his concentration slipped. And, failing all that, he’d even tried _pretending_ that Bucky was his main concern, thinking he could at least _come across_ like less of a self-centred ass-

Which might have worked, if Bucky weren’t so determined to encourage his new crush.

But, as it was, every time Steve tried to stop himself from rambling about Tony, Bucky would leap in with another question about him. Every time Steve tried to steer the conversation back to something professional, Bucky would nudge him back the other way. Whenever Steve said he felt bad, for getting excited over such a traumatic thing, Bucky would roll his eyes and say it _wasn’t_ traumatic – and, anyway, he’d much rather listen to Steve gossip than discuss medical techniques.

And Steve knew he meant it.

And Steve _wanted_ to be excited about this. He liked looking forward to something once a week.

So, when it was _finally_ time to drive over to Tony’s for appointment four, Steve didn’t bother trying to hide how wound up he was. He _would_ have bothered with a cursory question about how Bucky was feeling – if Bucky had let him. But, before Steve could even start the engine, Bucky leapt in with a teasing observation about how nervous he looked, and just like that Steve was back onto his favourite topic again.

Worrying that he’d have nothing to say.

Dissecting everything they’d said to each other so far.

Sharing random observations about Tony that he’d come up with, since they’d last had this conversation…

And then, just as Steve was making the turn onto Tony’s estate, Bucky asked,

“So, are you actually going to do something about it?”

Steve felt his spine straighten up from under him. As keen as he was to talk about Tony… he didn’t like _that_ question. Immediately, instinctively, it made him uncomfortable.

Suddenly he realised… he’d been avoiding the whole issue of being attracted to Tony. He hadn’t even known he was doing it – but in all the many, rambling conversations they’d had about Tony, Steve had never once mentioned how pretty Tony was. He’d never shared any of _those_ observations.

And now he recognised that he didn’t want to. He knew he couldn’t tell Bucky that he _wasn’t_ attracted to Tony, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t _want_ him… but he didn’t want to say it out loud. There was just a very basic resistance to it, a sense of foreboding… _This is about to get difficult…_

“What am I going to do about what?” Steve asked coolly, pulling into their regular parking space.

“Oh, come on Steve,” Bucky groaned, without malice. “This is the first person you’ve _liked_ since 1942. The first _thing_ that’s stopped you being anxious about _everything_ for five minutes at a time-”

“Really?” Steve cut in, incredulously. “This _makes_ me anxious-”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bucky corrected him. “This thing where you think about him all the time, and get nervous about seeing him, or whatever, is not ‘anxious’ – that’s just being a normal person, for once. It’s nothing like the constant, global-scale over-thinking you do the rest of the time – that _this_ finally distracted you from.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Steve muttered, cutting the engine.

“It is!” Bucky exclaimed, exasperated. “ _And_ , you should do something about it.”

“Like what?” Steve huffed, and then turned to look directly at Bucky when he added, “ _Ask if he wants to go out sometime?_ ”

“Okay, fine,” Bucky went on, a _little_ more softly. “So why can’t you come over here? When I’m _not_ having surgery, I mean.”

“And do _what_?” Steve sighed.

“Well, I don’t know…” And Bucky made like he was seriously considering it. And then he answered, as though it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, “you like giving head, right?”

Steve groaned, and dropped his head onto the steering wheel.

“Jesus Bucky-”

“You’re thinking about sucking his cock _right now_ ” Bucky went on, casually.

_No, I’m trying really hard_ _not_ _to – and you’re not helping._

“No, I’m thinking we’re going to be late,” Steve answered, _firmly_ , and opened the car door with a little too much force.

“He likes you too,” Bucky sighed, before Steve could get out of the car.

And Steve paused.

_Of course,_ there was a part of him that was intrigued by that. Part of him that wanted to think that it was true, that wanted to ask Bucky why he thought it – a part of him that would have enjoyed hearing this particular argument.

…But there was also a part of him that _didn’t_ want to know.

There was a part of Steve that didn’t want to think about whether Tony liked him, or what he might like to happen, even hypothetically. A part of him that already knew he wanted more from Tony than just one night – a part of him that didn’t want to think about why he couldn’t have it.

The part of him that knew, one day soon, this whole thing would be over… and he’d never see Tony again.

And that idea was-

No, Steve really didn’t want to go there.

“Well, if we keep him waiting much longer, he won’t” Steve muttered weakly, finally stepping out onto the drive. And Bucky just sighed, and followed him.

Steve was incredibly grateful that Bucky always knew when not to push it.

*

Steve turned up to the fifth appointment in his uniform. Which was… distracting.

Tony had stopped thinking of Steve as Captain America since he’d actually met him – so much so that he’d sort of forgotten he _was_ Captain America, apparently. And then Steve had strolled into the lab in _very_ form-fitting Kevlar, and suddenly it all occurred to him at once.

The fact that this man had saved the entire world, on more than one occasion.

The fact that this man had single-handedly taken down Hydra.

The fact that this man could lift a car with his bare hands.

The fact that this man had _incredible_ legs…

Tony stared again, as humiliatingly obvious as he’d been the first time that he saw Steve. Tony even knew he was doing it. It was just… _Steve was Captain America._ The sweet, shy guy who made awkward small talk and winced every time his friend had to have an injection… was Captain America. And, yeah, Tony knew all that before – but he’d never really thought about it. He’d never tried to fit all these different things he knew about Steve into the same picture. He’d never thought about Steve being that brave, or that strong-

And _sweet Jesus fuck, that body-_

So, when Tony finally snapped himself out of it, he immediately raced to bury himself in his work – purely to distance himself from that awkward start to the evening. And, thankfully, tonight’s procedure involved another general anaesthetic and a lot of complicated adjustments, so Tony had plenty to focus on. As always, he managed to push _all_ distractions to the back of his mind when it came to the important part, somehow managing to lose himself in his task even with _that_ standing at the back of the workshop…

And then, at last, he finished soldering the final panel back into place. He put down his tools and looked over at Bucky’s monitor, checking all of his vital signs. And, as Tony satisfied himself that everything was correct and complete and as it should be, he felt that tension running up his back again…

He couldn’t help feeling like this was a step backwards. Tony really thought that he’d moved beyond this overwhelmed, physical reaction to Steve. Their last few appointments had actually been enjoyable, _comfortable_ … and suddenly, the thought of having an easy chat with Steve as impossible as it had the first time he walked in.

And then Tony made himself look up.

Of course, Steve wasn’t looking at him yet. Steve was watching Bucky breathe, that familiar, _earnest_ look on his face… Tony could see the little flicker behind his eyes, the subtle crease of concern above his brow – all the thoughts that Tony _knew_ were tumbling through his head. Hoping Bucky would be okay, trying to think of what he’d do if something went wrong, trying to figure out how it all worked… Tony could almost hear it all in Steve’s voice.

_…Captain America is_ _Steve_

Was an entirely different revelation, to _Steve is Captain America._ This wasn’t about the impossible, inhuman things that Steve could do… It was about all the wonderfully human things that Captain America was. It was suddenly _seeing_ that all that power, and strength, and heroism was actually just one very sweet man making his own choices… Choices based on the person _Steve_ was.

In that moment, everything seemed to make so much more sense. It made everything Captain America ever did seem so much more impressive, thinking that it had really just been a human being at the centre of it all. It made all the impossible things about Steve seem so much more accessible, more relatable, thinking that it was all someone that Tony knew…

And Tony did feel like he knew him.

Maybe that didn’t make sense, after a couple of hours of shallow chit-chat… but over the course of those insubstantial conversations, Tony felt like he’d _seen_ Steve. He felt like he could guess Steve’s opinion on topics they’d never discussed, that he could predict his reaction to things that had never come up – that he just knew what sort of person he was.

And, with that, Tony realised that Steve wasn’t some incomprehensible concept or mythical creature. That he _wasn’t_ overwhelmed by Steve or intimidated by Steve or completely lost around Steve…

He just _really_ liked him.

Which was a huge revelation, sure, and something he’d no doubt spend the rest of the week over-thinking… But, in the moment, it made it much easier to talk.

“So, you came here straight from battle?” He smiled, gesturing vaguely to Steve’s outfit. Steve glanced down, and breathed a little laugh.

“Sort of,” he grinned. “Press conference.”

“They make you wear the uniform to talk to the press?” Tony asked – making a mental note to download all of the Avengers past media conferences as soon as Steve and Bucky left.

“Well, no one makes me…” Steve sighed, a hint of a blush colouring his cheeks. “I just… I don’t know, I don’t really like the idea of anyone asking what _Steve Rogers_ thinks.” And he dropped his eyes, slightly embarrassed.

“No, I get that,” Tony assured, easily – because he did. Immediately, he felt like he knew exactly what Steve was talking about…

Oh, but he knew he should be trying to get himself out of this conversation.

He should be pivoting back to the news or the forties or the Avengers. Something safe. 

He’d always told himself that he could never say _anything_ , just in case… 

And then Steve smiled at him, seemingly reassured that Tony understood what he was saying, and added,

“Half the time I don’t actually know what _I_ think about any of it…”

“But it’s easier to think what Captain America _would_ think.”

Tony just _said_ it. Just added that little observation, like he had any right or reason to… And before he could kick himself for it, Steve just laughed, and nodded,

“Yeah, basically.”

And he looked at Tony with such honest connection, _yeah, that’s it exactly_ … Like a mesmerising, beautiful flame – Tony knew he should run from this. He knew it would hurt if he touched it. But it was just so warm, and pretty, and… Tony just _really_ liked him…

“Pepper just flat-out writes most of my statements these days,” he went on, not sure if he was going against his every instinct or giving into them. “And, what’s really weird is, if I ever _do_ write one myself, I actually find myself thinking that it doesn’t sound right – like, trying to write in the Tony Stark voice that people know…” He knew he _should_ be panicking now, that this should all be so much harder to say. But, when Steve looked at him like that…

“I never say ‘I don’t know’, because Captain America wouldn’t” Steve admitted, in the same slightly hesitating, almost eager tone… Like he was having the same crisis about whether he could say any of this out loud. "Which, on the one hand, is obviously ridiculous. I mean, I _know_ that no one knows everything, and everyone knows that I am just a person, so I _can’t_ know everything…. But, on the other hand, it sounds sort of ridiculous, Captain America shrugging and saying, _I dunno_. Especially when it’s just a… human question…”

“Like, if you stopped a person in the street and asked them what they think about organised religion, you’d _expect_ them to be a bit thrown by the question – but if someone asks you whether you support the church, then it’s a simple yes/no question that Captain America deliberately avoided, and what is he hiding-” And Tony was cut short when Steve burst out laughing again.

“I haven’t had that one yet,” he smiled, gratefully. And then it cooled just a little, before he added, “I got asked whether I thought the Avengers should be on social media…”

“Why, is there a crime in progress on social media?” Tony mocked, raising an eyebrow.

“See, now I wish I’d said _that,_ ” Steve grinned.

“Why, what did you say?”

“That I didn’t see how that was relevant to the incident in New Mexico, and that’s what we were really there to talk about,” Steve shrugged. “Which is the sort of thing they’ll let you get away with, when you’re wearing the uniform. But, then again, when you’re wearing the uniform, you _can’t_ say – I still don’t really know what counts as social media, or why _anybody_ bothers with it. Captain America Doesn’t Understand The Internet is not a good headline.”

“If it helps, some of my work actually helped _create_ the internet, at least as we now know it – and _I_ don’t know why anyone bothers with social media, either.” Tony smiled…

_…But then, I don’t actually do anything ‘social’ at all._

A second too late, Tony realised how ridiculous his contribution was. That _of course_ he didn’t understand why anyone was doing anything these days – that it would hardly make Steve feel better to hear that Tony shared his level of ignorance.

That he couldn’t comment on _anything_ – at least, not without acknowledging that he couldn’t. If he didn’t at least start with, _I mean, I know I’m not a normal person…_ then anything he said would just be a joke…

Ah, there was the jolt of panic he should’ve felt much sooner. There was the instinctive resistance to this kind of conversation, the _understanding_ of why he shouldn’t do this.

But he had to say _something_ -

“And hey, at least you look good in the uniform.”

_Not_ _that_ _!_

…Too late.

Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and Tony just froze, unable to even look away-

And then the monitor behind him beeped.

“Sorry, just a sec,” Tony muttered, even though he knew that was just a standard report being run.

…He could pretend to be engrossed in a standard report for a few minutes.

*

Steve and Bucky _were_ actually late for the sixth appointment – which Steve hated far more than Tony ever could have.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed, a touch dramatically, the second he stepped out of the elevator.

“It’s fine,” Tony smiled – but, from the way everything in his lab had been neatened into perfect parallel lines, Steve had to guess he’d been _waiting_ here for a while. Steve glanced up at the clock, and winced. Twenty minutes. That was really late.

“We got stuck in some political… project meeting…thing,” he explained, too irritated with it to think of the right words. “Some partnership the government is building with a communications company, or something – I don’t even know how they want us to be involved. They just came by to ‘introduce themselves’ and wouldn’t shut up.”

“They were _aggressively_ enthusiastic about the whole thing,” Bucky confirmed, at least half as annoyed as Steve was. “And really bad at reading a room.”

“We must’ve done the whole ‘well, this has been great, _but’_ thing about a hundred times,” Steve groaned. “And Nick, _oh so helpfully_ , actually _told_ them we didn’t have any official business for the rest of the day.”

“I think he regretted that,” Bucky observed, with a smile.

“Which meant we couldn’t even pretend we were going to be late for something else,” Steve carried on over-explaining.

“I still think you should’ve said you had a date tonight” Bucky muttered. Steve snapped to attention, and shot him a not-very-subtle glare. “What?” Bucky asked, faux innocent. “Just because Nick says you don’t have _work_ to do, you still could’ve had plans.”

“ _You_ could have said you had a date tonight,” Steve shot back – because that’s just how he and Bucky argued. And then, when he realised how childish that would’ve sounded, he rushed to add, “And, anyway, that wouldn’t have gotten us out of the room any quicker. If I’d pretended I was going on a date, Nat would still be asking me questions _now_.”

“He makes a valid point,” Bucky conceded, glancing back at Tony.

“Who were these guys?” Tony smiled. “I mean, if they have you weighing up escape strategies…”

“ _Talleroy Communications_ ,” Bucky answered, mockingly. “But the guy they had running the meeting kept calling it TallCo”

“Which made it sound like he had his own little euphemism for the telephone,” Steve muttered, and Tony laughed.

“Ah, the new-fangled Talk-O I’ve heard so much about.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled.

“I thought it sounded more like a company they’d have in a children’s book,” Bucky mused. “ _From the highest room in the tallest skyscraper in the land, Mr Big runs his company…_ ”

“And, just like in a children’s book, none of us _really_ know what this company does,” Steve added. “Even after a _two-hour_ introduction.”

“They help different organisations synergise and develop their communication methods, though idea sharing and… something technology” Bucky tried to remember, pulling a sour face while he did it.

“Ouch,” Tony agreed, with a sympathetic smile. “Fair enough, something like that warrants a clear escape plan.”

“A _really_ comprehensive escape plan,” Steve added. “These guys are _experts_ at keeping a conversation going.”

“Okay, I’ll put my top AI on it,” Tony laughed. “But I should probably finish with this project first…” he suggested, gesturing to Bucky’s arm.

Of course, they both took the friendly hint, and went over to their now-familiar places by Tony’s examination table. And, by the time Tony had picked up his tools, Steve’s mind had drifted back to his now-familiar train of thought.

Thinking that he was going to kick Bucky for the ‘you should’ve said you had a date’ comment.

Wondering if he’d come off as aggressive or immature or rude, trying to guess what Tony thought of him.

_Still_ thinking about Tony saying that he looked good in his uniform, a week after the fact.

And then Steve got as far as remembering, _I’ll put my top AI on it._

Tony saying, _but I should probably finish with this project_ _first_ _._

…Steve knew that was a joke.

A friendly bit of banter – a _polite_ way of saying, _can you two stop wasting my time with office gossip_.

He _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to go to Tony for help again, after this was over. That had always been part of the deal.

…But it was a nice idea.

Steve was immediately drawn into it, suddenly daydreaming about a world in which he could drop by Tony’s house any time, or call him with questions, or work with him on any number of plans…

Maybe, if Steve saw him all the time, he could _fantasise_ about other things happening-

And he knew it _wouldn’t_ happen. He’d made this up out of nothing, based purely on what he wanted, without a shred of actual evidence – with plenty of evidence that it was impossible, as a matter of fact.

But, just knowing what it _could_ look like…

Steve had spent the last few weeks over-thinking everything that had _actually_ happened between them. Remembering little things Tony had said or done, and analysing them to death. And, okay, occasionally indulging in individual ideas – flashes of images, really – before he was forced to shake them away-

Because he’d just known they weren’t going anywhere.

Because he couldn’t even _imagine_ an ending to that fantasy that made any sense, what he could _possibly_ do after something like that happened – how they’d end up in that situation in the first place. He was aware, in the abstract, that he wanted it… But it was a bit like being in a hostage situation and just ‘hoping someone would rescue you’. You can’t daydream about it if you can’t think of a plan yourself. If you don’t know what the thing you want looks like, you can’t picture it.

And, suddenly, Steve felt like he could picture it.

As unlikely as that outcome was… he knew what it would look like. He could imagine himself, stopping by to see Tony a few times a week… building a genuine sort of trust, _some_ sort of relationship… he could _imagine_ that something more could happen between them, on nights like that, if nights like that existed…

… _Aaaaaand_ now he couldn’t stop imagining it. 

Great.

*

When Steve and Bucky arrived for their seventh appointment, the lab was a mess.

Tony had meant to tidy everything away before they arrived. He’d gotten into the habit of cleaning up before these appointments… and getting himself _sort of_ ready… and he’d tried not to analyse that overly much. Just something he did – _probably_ because Rhodey had put the idea into his head – that didn’t necessarily reflect anything deeper. It wasn’t a _big deal_ or anything-

Until the time he didn’t get to tidy up. Then it sort of felt like a big deal.

“Wow – did you get burgled or something?” Bucky asked light-heartedly as he picked his way through the chaos.

“Ah, no – the short answer is that I got carried away…” Tony answered, grateful that it wasn’t physically possible for him to blush.

“With what?” Steve asked, all enthusiastic and interested and… adorable…

“Oh, uh, body armour,” Tony short-handed, “Or, the _theory_ of body armour, anyway…”

Tony felt as though his heart had stopped in his ribs, as Steve’s gaze hesitated on one of the prototype gauntlets that he’d left on the worktop. Even though he knew his heart wasn’t even beating in the first place… he didn’t know what else to call that sudden pressure in his chest.

But it wasn’t anxiety. Whatever it was… it was _nicer_ than that...

“You wear this?” Steve inquired, looking up at Tony.

“Well, _I_ don’t, obviously…” Tony laughed. “And, actually, no one will be wearing that one – that’s an older version. But, yeah, I was sort of thinking about wearable tech that you – that the Avengers, could use…”

Because, actually, Tony had spent a _lot_ of the last few weeks thinking about tech that could keep the Avengers safe…Tech that could keep _Steve_ safe. He’d started thinking that maybe he just didn’t do enough about it, that his interest in the Avengers should really be more than the hobby he’d made it into – that he should stop congratulating himself for the tech he’d already ‘gifted’ them, and think a bit harder about what more he could do…

“The idea is to think of it less as a weapon and more as a defence… although, it would be able to contain a weapon, obviously…”

“And you actually _make_ them?” Steve pushed, his eyes alive with interest. Tony was momentarily thrown by the question, and when he hesitated, Steve clarified, “you don’t just make computer simulations, I mean? Or… figure it out on paper, or whatever…”

“Oh, no – I mean, _initially_ , sometimes… But, I don’t know, I think you just understand things better when you build them,” Tony explained. “If you’re actually holding something in your hands, you can see everything it does, or doesn’t do. Other ideas come up, you know?”

“Yeah, I said that,” Steve smiled, his attention drifting back to the gauntlet again. “I mean, I mentioned it once, when Nick was talking about the computer simulations SHIELD used to run. I asked if anyone bothered building any of this stuff…. He said ‘we’ve moved on’, or something.”

Tony felt a little spike on interest. A physical jolt, like he’d literally been _hooked_ by that statement-

He’d thought about this a thousand times.

He’d bored Rhodey and Pepper and even JARVIS about this topic, over and over again.

And Tony should probably have thought more about it, before he indulged this sudden feeling of connection… But he’d moved past that now. He’d just lived through too many false alarms at this stage, too many moments that felt like they might be the end of the world - and weren’t. He’d stopped fearing those moments when he’d remember that he wasn’t human, not because they’d stopped happening, but because every time they _did_ happen Steve would still smile at him afterwards. He didn’t even know he’d stopped doing it, the way people never notice something when it _isn’t_ there. And, without that, there was just the unexpected delight of finding someone who shared a niche interest. The thrill of having someone _new_ to talk to about this. Just that.

“Common misconception,” he smiled, enthusiastically. “This idea that, because you have a new way to do it, you stop the old way altogether. I mean, _sometimes_ that’s right – but, really, a lot of the time, you’ve just found _another_ way of doing it. And, if you drop the first way completely, have you really progressed what you know? I mean, you haven’t really _added_ to your knowledge, if you push something out every time you think of something new…”

“Nick made it sound like the computers just did the same thing but quicker.” Steve mused.

“Well, _that_ isn’t true. The computers do something else completely. And, like I say – _sometimes_ , that’s the thing you were trying to do with models. Some of the time, the computer is a faster, more accurate way to tell you what you were using models to guess. But, a lot of the time, a model will tell you something a computer isn’t even looking for…”

And then he saw Steve’s eyes flit, briefly, over to Bucky – and suddenly he remembered that he was supposed to be doing something else.

“Sorry,” Tony smiled, turning to address Bucky directly. “This has nothing to do with what you’re here for.”

“Oh, I’m in no rush,” Bucky assured them, brightly. “And, hey, I want to know if we’re getting _armour_ …”

Tony laughed gently – trying not to get too carried away with the little stirring of happiness in his stomach.

He would have liked to carry on with this discussion.

He even considered it, for a second.

But… that was probably rude. With Bucky waiting to start a medical procedure, and all…

…Not, _this is a dangerous conversation._

…Not, _oh good, an excuse to get out while I’m ahead._

Just – _no, that would probably be rude._

“You’re a long way off getting armour,” Tony clarified, apologetically. “And putting it off won’t mean you don’t have a procedure today. So.” And Bucky just shot him a playful look, _spoilsport._

And then Tony glanced back at Steve….

He could’ve _sworn_ , for just a second, that Steve looked disappointed

*

Bucky had another general anaesthetic on appointment number eight. And Steve didn’t want to say he _liked_ it when Bucky went under general anaesthetic…

Although, in Steve’s defence, _Bucky_ seemed far more relaxed about this – about all of it – since they’d started working with Tony. Steve was quite sure that, if Bucky was still as anxious about sedation as he used to be, _he_ would still be as uncomfortable about these appointments. But, as it was…

Well, it wasn’t _nice_ , or anything…

But there were upsides to it.

Steve _did_ like being able to chat to Tony, just the two of them.

And, tonight, it was as good as it had ever been. He and Tony traded little observations, even little jokes, as Tony was working. There were call backs to things they’d talked about before, references they both got – a genuine sense of familiarity, despite the cacophony of reactions that Tony still sparked in him.

This time, there wasn’t that little pause when Tony stood up from his work. This time, they were already in the middle of a conversation – the talk they’d almost started last week, about the true nature of progress.

By the time Tony was standing with him, calmly waiting for Bucky to come around, Steve felt a genuine contentment that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He was happy – _excited_ even – that this chat with Tony seemed to be going so well.

He was delighted, maybe even a little bit relieved, to be able to have such a natural and diverting conversation with _anyone_.

He was glad of the excuse to watch Tony smile…

And then, as a natural part of this comfortable little exchange, Tony asked him,

“Who’s Leslie Gibson, by the way?”

Steve blinked, momentarily shocked that Tony knew that name… But then he remembered the throw-away joke that Bucky had made earlier in the evening, when it took him two attempts to jump up onto the operating table.

“Oh, he’s a guy I had a… _thing_ with, during the war,” Steve answered casually. “One time he got _very_ drunk, and tried to jump up and sit on the bar of this pub we were in, and fell right over the back of it – that’s what Bucky was referring to.”

“…A thing?” Tony prompted, a warm sort of intrigue in his voice.

“He had a big house on the French border, and he used to rent rooms out – like a bed and breakfast, without the breakfast,” Steve laughed at the memory. “And the Commando’s stayed there for like, a month, I think? While we were tracking a Hydra scientist… But, y’know, we knew we weren’t going to be there long, so it wasn’t a serious thing, obviously. Just… a thing.” And he shrugged, and glanced back at Tony-

Who was giving him _the_ most interested look…

Steve raised his eyebrows, _what_? Even though, really, he already knew what had grabbed Tony’s attention. He hadn’t thought about it when he was saying it, but he recognised it now…

And he liked it.

He didn’t know _why_ … But, immediately, Steve liked the idea of Tony taking an interest in his romantic life. He liked the fact that Tony seemed _surprised._

“Honestly? I guess I didn’t expect Captain America to have _a thing,_ with a guy,” Tony admitted, with a self-conscious shrug.

“Yeah, they left that side of things out of the comic books,” Steve smiled – deliberately indulging this.

“So… Not just _this_ guy, then?” Tony pressed on, very carefully.

“Actually, mostly, it was women,” Steve answered. “Meeting… other men, was a bit trickier, back then. But, yeah, there were some.”

And, for a moment, Steve was so distracted by the look on Tony’s face, so enamoured with the idea that he’d caught Tony’s attention _that_ way, that it didn’t occur to him-

He was talking about sex.

And, even when it did occur to him, it didn’t scare him. Steve knew this was something he didn’t normally talk about – he knew he shouldn’t want to talk about this with _Tony_ , of all people… And yet here he was, right in the middle of it, feeling…

Like a normal person.

Or, maybe better than that-

“And now?” Tony asked, like the thought had just occurred to him.

And Steve was used to people taking an interest in his love life – Natasha asked for a post-mortem every time he talked to anyone new, and Sam had a seemingly endless list of single people to wax lyrical about, whenever they went out for drinks – so it didn’t occur to him to wonder why Tony wanted to know. He just answered.

“Oh, now, not so much…”

“It’s not actually any less _tricky_ , in the 21st Century…?” Tony guessed. And Steve smiled.

“Yeah, you could say that…”

And then a monitor beeped.

…And Tony ignored it.

*

Tony _was_ in a good mood, on the evening of their ninth appointment. 

He was looking forward to seeing Steve again. He’d spent the whole day happily thinking about the things they’d talked about, and wondering what sort of week Steve had, and remembering things he’d thought of saying to him, over the last few days. 

He’d smiled, as he tidied up his workshop - he might even have been humming. 

And then he’d got as far as clearing away the body armour he’d been working on. At first, there was a little lift in his chest, as he remembered Steve taking an interest in it before. Another little flicker of excitement, as he thought about telling Steve how far it had come. Thinking that Steve would be interested to see it. Wondering if it would be finished… before…

_Before he stops coming here_.

And it was like a little light inside him died. 

Tony already felt cold, as he started to count how many sessions they had left… Not as many as they’d had so far.

But that time had rushed by so quickly-

God, this would all be over so soon-

Out of nowhere, he remembered Rhodey asking him, _but what if you just have a funny, interesting conversation - and that’s it?_ _Wouldn’t that be_ _better_ _?_

Tony’s first thought was that he wasn’t sure it _was_ better, actually. He hadn’t worked out what this slow, crawling sadness was, exactly… but ‘better’ wasn’t the word. 

He tried to remember that conversation... to remember the person he was when he had that conversation. None of the things he’d said seemed to fit now. None of the things he could remember thinking felt familiar in his head. 

The things he was worried about now would never have occurred to him, then. 

Back then, Tony was just worried that _any_ change to his routine would upset his numbed denial, that having any sort of connection would just remind him how lonely he was… That Steve would become an avatar for all the experiences he’d never have, and this whole arrangement would sharpen all the hurt that was already there. 

He’d never considered that he might _miss Steve._ He’d not considered that he might really fall for him, that he’d... _like_ Steve, like this. That it might hurt to lose him.

That the pain of losing Steve might be worse than any of it...

Back then, Tony was worried that it would just be awkward and painful for months, that he’d have nothing to talk about, that he’d be permanently anxious about slipping up…

He’d not thought that maybe it would be easy and natural and nice. That he’d end up changing his entire outlook without even realising. 

And back then, Tony was so worried that one of them would work out that he was a vampire – because then his secret might get out, and then there would be all _that_ trouble to deal with.

He never imagined he’d trust Steve to keep that secret under pain of torture, if Tony asked him to.

He never imagined that he’d only care about _Steve_ knowing it… That he’d feel so sick at the idea of Steve thinking of him that way, that it would hurt his feelings so much to think of Steve recoiling from him…

That a tiny little part of Tony would kind of want to tell him - Jesus, that was a terrifying impulse. Like standing on a high ledge and realising a little part of you really wanted to jump-

He just hadn’t expected a crisis of self on this scale. 

“Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have arrived, Sir,” JARVIS informed him - and Tony flinched.

_Already?_

God, how long had he long had he lost to _that_ mental spiral…? But he didn’t have time to think about it. Immediately, he resolved that he would just have to put all this aside until they were gone. Wait until he had time to think about it properly, reserve this breakdown for when it wouldn’t make anyone else uncomfortable…

And he didn’t want to waste this time with Steve. 

So, he tried his best to cover it. He hoped he sounded more cheerful than he felt, when he welcomed them both, and asked how their week had gone.

He tried to lose himself in Steve’s easy, earnest conversation, the way he had for the last few months. Tony _tried_ to focus on all the things he liked about it, rather than the void he’d feel once it was gone.

He was so consumed with _that_ conflict, the constant effort of sounding happy without thinking about why he wasn’t, that he didn’t have the headspace left to think about anything else. He wasn’t watching what either of them were doing-

Until, halfway someway through some meaningless observation, he noticed Steve about to rest his hand on the workspace just behind the examination table – and Tony’s whole body jarred upright with a sudden stab of adrenaline.

_Hot_.

Just that one word, like an alarm in his head – Tony didn’t have time to remember what it meant. He couldn’t think of how to warn him,

_That’s a soldering board-_

_I was literally just using it-_

_It’s only_ _just_ _stopped glowing red-_

Tony couldn’t form the words. Not in time.

There was only that awful, urgent knowledge that Steve was about to hurt himself-

And then, all of a sudden, Tony was snatching Steve’s wrist out of mid-air.

And then time just _stopped_.

There was an endless, bottomless moment, in which Tony was just holding onto Steve’s wrist – and Steve was just _looking_ at him.

An… _honest_ look… visceral, almost _animal_ – just so _aware_ -

And then, finally, Tony recognised why Steve was so shocked. He realised how quickly he’d managed to move across that workshop. How firmly he still had a hold of Steve’s arm. Not as strong a grip as it could have been, because Tony had been thinking of _protecting_ Steve – but strong enough to have given Captain America pause, apparently.

Tony dropped Steve’s wrist, and took a step back, and tried to kick start his brain again.

“Sorry, that’s hot,” he muttered, gesturing to the surface Steve was about to lean on. And Steve didn’t even turn to look at it – he just kept looking at Tony, his eyes full of questions… alive with excitement.

Tony felt a thrill race though him, somewhere between exhilarated and disgusted.

A sharp, stabbing panic that was kind of compulsive – like a wound he wanted to pick.

A hot tangle of thoughts that he couldn’t form into English-

Something about having screwed it up and needed to cover his tracks and wanting so desperately to pursue it-

“Sorry, that’s my bad, I should’ve said…” Tony carried on murmuring, hardly hearing himself speak.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t just…” Steve started, and seemed to lose himself in the middle of it – obviously so much more interested in something else.

At last, Tony heard some actual words in his head. 

_Shit, he knows_

_It will be so bad, if he knows_

_I want him to know_

_He can’t possibly know_

_Say something, or he_ _will_ _know_

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

“Right, I should probably focus on uninjuring people, before I injure any more people,” he babbled, turning his attention back to Bucky.

“Uh, yeah, sure, right…” Bucky muttered, glancing awkwardly back to the examination table, like he was trying to remember what he did next.

“You’re okay, right? You didn’t burn yourself?” Tony added, without looking at Steve.

But he could feel Steve looking at him.

“No, I didn’t burn myself” Steve whispered, in a voice that sent a shiver up Tony’s spine.

“Okay, good,” Tony added quietly, not really talking to Steve anymore. Already turning to walk over to Bucky, desperately thinking of how to push past this awful event…

Subtly flexing his hand, now hanging nervously at his side.

Somewhere, amongst all the shame and panic and adrenaline, it occurred to him…

That was the first time he’d ever actually _touched_ Steve. 


	6. Chapter 6

Tony was lying on top of the covers, still wide awake, when the sun came up the following morning.

Not that Tony knew that the sun had come up. Tony wasn’t aware of anything outside of his own head. The relentless churning of shame and panic, the fruitless attempt to find the words for it, the constant reruns of nightmare scenarios he’d spent the whole night thinking up. Mostly, he just _felt_ bad. Worried and uncomfortable. _Unclean_.

He’s spent hours trying to ignore it, rationalise it, put it into some sort of order – but the awfulness of it was so loud that he couldn’t think over the top of it. Trying to keep his head quiet for a minute was like trying to hold your breath when you have the hiccups. The ideas would just leap in, entirely oblivious to his attempts to control them. 

He kept thinking back to various points in that awful, awkward appointment. The meaningless comments he’d made, because he couldn’t mention what he was so anxious about… growing ever more anxious, the longer it went unsaid. 

The times he could swear he’d seen Steve glance down at his wrist, or run his other hand over it, and wanted so much to ask him or reassure him or cover… but, obviously, that would’ve been suspicious. 

The stilted way they’d said goodbye, the way Steve couldn’t quite meet his eye.

The way Steve looked at him, when it happened-

Oh, he’d gotten in so far over his head.

He’d been so reckless and irresponsible and _ridiculous_ , to ever let it get this far.

_Okay, calm down. You only grabbed his wrist. Maybe he didn’t think anything of it. And even if he’s worked out that you’re strong, it doesn’t mean he’s worked out that you’re a vampire-_

Wasn’t working, obviously. The anxiety was all about what _might_ be true. The fear of _what if_ Steve knew the truth, or _if_ he was somewhere trying to work it out, or if he was unnerved and disgusted by Tony now… the fact that it _might_ not be true didn’t stop Tony worrying about what would happen if it was.

_Okay, so, how bad is this, really? What’s the worst that can happen? You know he wouldn’t tell anyone, or sell you out-_

Well, obviously. That didn’t make Tony feel any better, because he’d never worried about that in the first place. And, more to the point, he didn’t care about that anyway. The idea of _Steve_ sitting somewhere now, repulsed or frightened or uncomfortable with the idea of Tony, was worse than the thought of his secret being announced on the six o’clock news. Tony didn’t care who else found out – which was a worrying thought, in and of itself.

_And you knew this thing couldn’t last. Whatever happened, you were never going to see him again after next month_ -

Wasn’t going to make Tony feel better, was it? He’d been terrified of that thought anyway, before ‘the event’. That’s _why_ he hated this so much – because it brought that day so much closer. Because it had reminded him that the whole thing was just play pretend, and had always been play pretend, even when he’d slipped into thinking of it as real.

And he didn’t _want_ to stop thinking of it as real-

Arg. This was a disaster. He’d done the _very_ thing he’d warned himself against at the start. The one thing he should have been safeguarding against this whole time – the reason he shouldn’t have said yes in the first place-

 _Oh, don’t say that_ -

He just couldn’t _believe_ that he’d let himself fall into this, after twenty years of telling himself not to, after all that thought he gave it. _All_ those reasons that he could never be normal, all that evidence that he could never have what other people had, and all it had taken was a nice guy with a pretty smile-

_He’s not just that._

Tony had been flinching away from that little voice for hours now. Truthfully, he was a bit scared of it. Somehow aware of the power it held, the damage it could do, if he gave it the slightest chance.

Tony knew he had to step away from Steve, that he had to accept losing him, that he had to limit the harm he’d already caused… but he _so_ didn’t want any of that. That was it. That was the _sole_ basis for the nagging, emotionally manipulative counter argument that kept piping up in his head.

_But you’ll be so miserable when he’s gone_

_But you_ _are_ _happy when he’s here_

 _But he has_ _such_ _a pretty smile_

All ridiculous, and nonsensical – and, anyway, irrelevant.

Even if it were true that Steve was special and wonderful and the reason Tony smiled these days… that didn’t mean Tony could keep him. It didn’t provide any way for this to work, it didn’t magically make any of the risks disappear.

And he _had_ to keep telling himself that.

Because, if he didn’t, he just _knew_ he’d end up thinking something really foolish. Or doing something really foolish, without thinking about it, because every instinct in his body was telling him to sabotage himself.

Which meant there were only two ways for this to go.

He could make himself take a step back, _force_ himself to live by reason, take all those painful but necessary precautions. He could think about how to condense Bucky’s treatments into fewer appointments, make sure not to engage in personal conversations… Just tell Steve not to come with him, next time. All of which was just unbearable, obviously.

But the only other outcome was that Tony carried on down this oblivious, self-destructive path. Talking to Steve without thinking it through, walking around without his guard up – letting himself get carried away in daydreams about Steve, without ever preparing himself for the day he lost him.

The absolute _best_ Tony could hope for then was that he got through to the inevitable end of this, and had his heart shattered. Far more likely was that he slipped up again before then. And then he’d have to watch Steve recoil in horror, which would hurt so much more. Or, he’d watch Steve get confused, or angry… or, the outside chance that he’d leer, and say it sounded _fun_. All of it was so much worse than any of the things Tony had thought to worry about at the start. Turned out, Tony had more to protect himself from - and so much more to protect - than he’d ever realised-

_But what if he was_ _different_?

Oh, Tony knew he shouldn’t even entertain this idea. He knew he’d be lost forever, if he gave that little voice the slightest chance…

But he’d spent all night fighting it.

And he _so_ wanted to indulge this.

And… What if that little voice _did_ have a point?

_You_ _know_ _he’s different._

Suddenly, Tony could feel himself standing in front of a distinct line. A moment that could fundamentally tip the balance. A moment there may be no coming back from. 

This might be the moment he finally caved.

This might be when he allowed himself to believe, however briefly, that everything he thought he knew was wrong...

He felt like he was having an actual crisis of faith. Like he was looking back on a lifetime of religious devotion. The decision to seriously think about changing, to consider that there might be an alternative, was a huge step in itself.

Should he simply _have faith_ that all of his previous fears were well founded? Should he try to convince himself that Steve _wasn’t_ special, and that he _would_ be just fine without him – that this whole obsession was a symptom of the very problem he had to fix? Should he stick with his tried and tested mantra, that this was how it had to be and how it would always be and there was no point getting upset about it?

_That unwavering acceptance might be the only thing that stops me going insane._

_Not thinking about the future, not thinking about all the things I can’t have… It took so long to reach this point…_

Could he really bear to hope that there was a way out of this? Could he stand the agony of seriously searching for a way to make this work – would he be able to cope, when the answer was _still_ no, and he didn’t have the cloak of inevitability to protect him? Would he ever be able to go back to his life of sad resignation, once he’d acknowledged that it wasn’t sacred or indelible?

 _But what if Steve_ _is_ _different?_

 _What if Steve really_ _wouldn’t_ _mind that you’re a vampire?_

…And Tony could actually imagine that.

Which wasn’t the same as believing it was true… But, up until now, Tony couldn’t think of a way someone _could_ react ‘well’. He didn’t know what to daydream about, what he’d even be hoping for.

But, thinking about _Steve_ …

Tony could at least _imagine_ Steve hearing that news, and not freaking out. He could imagine Steve listening, calmly, and kindly… he could believe that Steve would still look at him the same way afterwards.

…He could imagine Steve taking an interest.

He could imagine Steve asking questions that weren’t cruel or personal. Actually listening to the answers. _Caring_ about the answers.

He could imagine Steve forgetting all about it, until it came up – and then just mentioning it, like it wasn’t a big deal, rather than dancing around it or pausing awkwardly.

Tony had no idea how much he wanted all of that, until this moment. He hadn’t known it existed, to want it. He couldn’t have come up with all of that from nothing… but he could so easily imagine _Steve_ doing all of it-

And then he remembered the way Steve’s eyes had widened. The hot flash of fear, in the second Tony snatched his wrist… The way it darkened into something else, as his gaze fell on Tony’s fingers.

Tony felt an ache in his entire body, and had no idea what to call it. He’d been replaying that moment, over and over, all night. Always with a flinching pain in this stomach, and a general feeling of shame… But this time it felt different.

He remembered the way Steve’s arm flexed, almost playfully, against Tony’s grip

The way he parted his lips

_…such beautiful lips._

And he thought of Steve being kind, and compassionate, and _interested_ , if Tony ever told him.

He imagined the way _that_ Steve would look at him, if Tony ever showed him what it meant.

_…What if you wouldn’t really mind if Steve_ _liked_ _it?_

And Tony had been _so_ sure, just a few minutes earlier, than he’d never want anyone to _like_ him being a vampire. That had always been a given, a fact. And while the rest of his lonely, claustrophobic existence had been thrust upon him, his hatred of vampire fetishists was all his own. He _felt_ that one, as well as thinking it. To question that really was to question everything-

But he _was_ questioning it. It was all too late.

And, _again_ , Tony replayed that scene in his head-

The way Steve’s eyes lit up,

The way he relaxed into the grip

The _way_ he looked at Tony…

Tony wondered… Was it possible that _he_ liked the idea of being a vampire, for Steve?

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He knew that couldn’t be right – he knew it wasn’t _right_ . It was… creepy, and against everything he’d ever believed and, just… _wrong_ -

But that ache in his body only grew, the longer he tried to ignore this revelation. Until these thoughts overwhelmed his resistance to them, and all the questions were right there in his head,

_What if it could be different with Steve?_

_What if it was possible for someone to_ _like_ _that side of him, without it being creepy?_

 _What if it was_ _possible_ _for Tony not to hate that part of himself…even just for a few minutes, with someone very special…_

And then Tony was imagining it.

He hadn’t meant to…But it just took so little effort – it just happened.

He thought of Steve, _his_ Steve, looking at him like that… What might’ve happened, if it had been just the two of them there, if Steve already knew and there was no drama or trauma or complicated conversation to have…

If Tony could’ve met his eye, and smiled…

That ache twisted sharply, and Tony realised that he was already hard.

A hot flush of shame ran up his spine. He’d never done this, in all the time he’d been hidden away. He’d touched himself, of course he had, but only because that bodily, sexual tension became too much to bear. A functional process, designed to meet a purely physical need. He had always relied on generic images, basic fantasy scenarios… some of which might’ve started to look more like Steve, in the last few weeks… But Tony had never inserted _himself_ into any kind of fantasy. That was the thing. He’d always hated his own body, his own being, too much – he turned _himself_ off, thinking of an undead, unnatural creature in the middle of it.

Instinctively, he told himself _no_. He couldn’t-

But he still had the image of Steve in his mind, nonjudgmental, and interested, and… excited. He imagined _Steve_ telling him, _yes, you can…_

Steve, who had never felt any differently about Bucky even after everything that HYDRA did to him – Steve, who hated what had been done to Bucky, and still didn’t hate any part of him. 

Steve, who defended enhanced beings as people rather than political points. Steve, who hadn’t made Tony feel like a weird, awkward recluse…

Tony wouldn’t feel ashamed if Steve was really there, he knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t feel _unnatural._ He’d feel safe, and valid, and… _Strong_.

Tony’s cock pulsed sharply, and he touched himself before he could think to stop it. Just an impulsive response to pain, at first. But then he felt that friction shock through his body, a blissful relief and a deeper ache all at once. He froze, knowing that he _couldn’t do this_ … Oh, but he couldn’t stop now…

_It’s okay. I promise it’s okay._

Tony heard it in Steve’s voice, his hips rocking up into his hand involuntarily, as the scene unfolded in his head.

Steve, tearing his gaze away from Tony’s grip, looking him right in the eye and telling him, _it’s okay_.

That warm, low voice he used sometimes, that almost-smile on his lips.

Tony could imagine the way that smile would flicker. He could so easily picture Steve parting his lips, taking a sharp breath as Tony pushed him back against the counter-

Steve wouldn’t break, if Tony did that. He wouldn’t get hurt, or scared, or defensive…

He _might_ like it…

But Tony could imagine what it would look like if he did. That was all that mattered in this moment – not how likely it was, not now many problems it would cause, not analysing the reasons Steve might have for liking it. Just the mental image of Steve, relaxing into his grip, smiling at him, whispering, _yes_.

Tony could imagine himself dropping Steve’s wrist, so that he could finally run his palms over that _impossible_ body-

He could imagine how Steve would feel, strong and solid and soft and giving, under his hands-

He could imagine letting his fingers trail over Steve’s stomach… sliding his hands under the waistband of Steve’s jeans, touching Steve the way he was touching himself, feeling Steve’s hips roll to meet him like this

Steve liking it… Not because Tony was a vampire, or in spite of Tony being a vampire… Just liking it…

It all ran away from him so quickly.

Tony thought about kissing him. _God_ , Tony wanted to kiss him. He’d wanted to kiss him for weeks, to feel Steve pressed against him, to _have_ that beautiful mouth-

He thought about having Steve in his bed, not worried about what he might find there, not thinking he didn’t belong. Steve, naked and relaxed and _wanting_ , letting Tony pin his arms above his head. His arms tensing against Tony’s grip, and then relenting to it… _like he had before_.

He thought of Steve baring his neck for him, letting Tony run his tongue along his throat, not being afraid-

Tony could imagine how warm and soft Steve’s skin would feel under his lips,

Under his teeth-

Tony came, sudden and sharp and completely unexpectedly, his whole body trembling with the force of it-

He wasn’t sure this was a pleasant experience.

It was just so intense, so disorienting… and the guilt rushed in _so_ quickly. A hot, nauseating shame that rolled through him along with the aftershocks – making it all one and the same thing.

Oh, what had he done-

What had he _become_ -

Tony snatched a tissue from the box on his bedside table, wiping his hands far too roughly – completely disgusted with himself.

He wanted to peel his own skin off, he felt so unclean.

He had shower – he had to do _something_ , he had to run from this _somehow_ -

And then his phone rang.

He answered it purely to shut it up – it was just one thing too many. He wasn’t even planning on waiting to find out whether it was Pepper or Rhodey. Whichever one it was, they’d just have to understand that he couldn’t do this right now. He’d already opened his mouth to say it-

“Uh, hi, Tony?”

And Tony just froze, entirely confused.

“Bucky?” He heard himself ask.

“Hi, sorry, I know it’s a stupid time in the morning,” Bucky started, apologetically. “But, you said to call immediately if I felt any pain in the arm…?”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course, right…” Tony babbled, willing his brain to catch up with his mouth. Hearing Bucky’s tone before he heard the actual words, feeling gently reassured that Bucky didn’t sound panicked… And then he realised what Bucky just said. “You’re in pain? What sort of pain?”

“Oh, nothing bad – I just keep feeling… I don’t know, they almost feel like muscle cramps? In my shoulder, mostly…”

Even in the midst of a personal breakdown, Tony found himself trying to work that out. Thinking back to the treatment yesterday with far more clarity than he’d thought about anything, all night. Maybe it was just the focusing effect of his responsibility for Bucky’s health, but – amazingly – Tony was actually able to concentrate. And then he remembered _why_ he told Bucky to call him immediately.

“When did this start?”

“In the last few minutes,” Bucky answered. And then, slightly hesitantly, “Why, is that bad?”

“No, actually,” Tony reassured him automatically, already running calculations in his head. “In a weird way, it’s a good thing. It means the, uh… bad connection, for want of another word, is probably in the joint we updated yesterday. I think it’s gotten… _confused_ , by the chip we added – like, literally by the physical intrusion of it…” And then Tony paused, and shook his head, and reminded himself that Bucky probably wasn’t interested in theory, right now. “But, the point is, this means that a) we’ve probably found the problem, which saves any more exploratory surgery and b) the problem happens to be in an accessible place, so that should make fixing it much easier.”

“Oh, okay,” Bucky breathed, sounding relieved. “So, do I just wait until I see you next week?”

“No, it’ll have to be sooner than that,” Tony answered, easily – because, hey, he knew that one. That was the whole reason Bucky had to call him right away and report this symptom. Tony knew, if he acted quickly enough, he could use that pain to locate the problem. If he waited, the ‘bad connection’ would just find another inefficient way to mask its own issues, and possibly infect all the work Tony had done so far.

So. There was a nice, objective certainty.

“Can you come in tonight?” He sighed

“Yeah, of course,”

“Okay, I’ll see you then,” Tony managed – and hung up before Bucky could say anything.

He was just so fucking weary, all of a sudden.

Burnt out with it. Beyond it.

Already at rock bottom.

He had finally become everything he’d always hated. Or, maybe he’d always been like this, and he’d simply been in denial… whatever. The point was, there was no running from it anymore. He was every bit as warped as all the vampire fetishists he loathed; he was every bit the bloodthirsty monster than the fairy tales made him out to be. He had literally come all over his own hand, at the very thought of Steve wanting Tony to bite him. There was no going lower than that, no coming back from it, nothing more to say.

He was about to lose the only thing he’d cared about in twenty years, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was no way to prepare himself for it, there would be no making it better once it happened – by working out where the problem was, ahead of schedule, he’d actually just brought that date forward. And there was no answer to any of that, either.

His life _was_ sad, and lonely, and entirely without hope. And he’d remembered that now, and there was no unknowing it. Like realising he _had_ actually preferred the feeling of unwavering religious faith… but there was no getting it back, once he’d questioned it. Too late now.

And Tony knew he should panic about the fact that Steve was coming back tonight… But he just…

His shoulders slumped under the weight of his own existence.

He couldn’t think about this anymore. He was just too tired. Too fucking miserable.

He decided he would just get up, and have a shower… and then he might as well try to get some sleep, before they got here. The very least he could do was to be well rested and cognitively aware when he performed surgery tonight…

That might be _all_ he could do, at this stage.

*

Steve stepped into the elevator right behind Bucky… subtly running his hand over his wrist, _again._

He kept expecting to see some sort of mark on his skin, although he wasn’t sure what it would look like, exactly. It didn’t feel like a bruise or a burn or a scar… It just felt _different._ Like Steve could still feel the shock of it, the echo of that sudden, _powerful_ grip-

Steve swallowed, and let his arms fall to his sides. Oh, he wished he’d had more time to process this. He _knew_ that there was something significant about it, that there was something that should’ve occurred to him. He knew there was something…different, about the strength of Tony’s grip or how quickly he could move. Steve knew he should think more of it than the things that had immediately occurred to him-

The thrill of having Tony actually touch him.

The thought of Tony rushing in to protect him.

…The instant jolt of feeling something solid push against him, someone he couldn’t merely toss aside-

Steve didn’t know what to call the reaction he had – was _still_ having – to Tony grabbing him like that. He thought he liked it, although he wasn’t sure why he liked it, or… _how_ he liked it. Whether this was a physical response or an emotional one. What exactly it made him think about, or feel, or… want. Steve would have liked a day or two to work on that. And then maybe he’d have gotten around to wondering how Tony did it, and what it meant-

But then Bucky had so casually informed him that they were going back for an ‘unscheduled appointment’ – and Steve _knew_ his only concern should be the treatment they were here for, the pain Bucky was in… But, Jesus, he wasn’t ready to do this yet.

_Should I mention it?_

_Should I make sure it doesn’t come up?_

_What if he mentions it?_

_If he asks what I think – what_ _do_ _I think?_

Not that he’d be able to tell Tony what he thought about it, even if he did find the words. Steve wasn’t sure what he was feeling right now, but he was sure it was something intimate and personal, and fundamentally entangled with his crush on Tony… Something he could never explain to Tony, even if he managed to explain it to himself.

But he couldn’t help thinking it would help, to be able to explain it to himself. That, if _he_ knew what he was feeling right now, he’d have a better chance of working out what to do about it.

As it was, the elevator had just settled into place on the right floor, so Steve was going to have to do _something_ with his face… He let go of a little breath, and had to stop himself grabbing his wrist again.

“Are you still mad at me for not waking you up this morning?” Bucky asked, just as the doors slid open.

“What? No, of course not,” Steve frowned – he couldn’t remember being mad at Bucky in the first place. Actually, he couldn’t remember much of the last twenty-four hours, now he came to think of it… He wasn’t even entirely sure how their last appointment ended. Everything became a bit of a haze, after ‘the event’.

“Well, something’s up with you,” Bucky observed, as they stepped into the workshop.

And Steve had just started scrambling for a reply to that, when Tony strolled over to meet them,

“Hey guys.”

And, already, Steve knew something was wrong. He could hear it, in those two little syllables – something was different, or… _missing…_

“How’s the pain, now?” Tony turned to talk to Bucky directly, his voice perfectly pleasant and professional.

“Comes and goes,” Bucky shrugged. “Has been all day. S’not really gotten any better, or worse, or anything.”

“Hm,” Tony considered Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. “About here?” He guessed, gesturing vaguely to one of the panels on Bucky’s upper arm.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded.

“Okay, so, you remember I said before, that there was probably _one_ faulty component that was causing all the, uh, _confusion_ ?” Tony began, coolly. “Well, most of the work we’ve done so far hasn’t been about finding or fixing that unit. So far, we’ve mainly been installing the ‘work around’, putting in place a non-organic neurological interface that actually _works_ , before we even thought about the one that doesn’t…”

Steve could feel his heart getting heavier, with every cold, functional sentence that Tony uttered. He could _feel_ how distant Tony was, how different this was from the warm, conversational place they’d been in just last week. This wasn’t even the awkward, slightly brusque Tony that Steve had met at the beginning of this – Tony was acting like he didn’t even _know_ them. Like they were just two of hundreds of anonymous clients he saw every day. Like Steve meant _nothing_ to him.

And then Steve felt his throat tighten treacherously, and suddenly he was finding it hard to control his breathing.

He was just _so_ hurt-

“…But, if this means we _have_ found the bad connection, then we’ve found it earlier than I was expecting,” Tony carried on, seemingly oblivious. “And that actually makes the rest of the treatment much easier – probably means you’ll be done with me sooner than you thought.”

And Steve swore he could literally feel his heart break. Like his chest had caved in, and he was already dying. It was only the shock of it that stopped him from sobbing-

He couldn’t believe Tony didn’t _care_.

Worse even than the thought of never seeing Tony again was the thought that he’d be so casual about it, that he’d nonchalantly throw it out there as a bit of cheerful news – that he didn’t even look at Steve when he said it.

_I thought you liked me…_

Steve swallowed again, hot and bitter and painful, and forced himself to take a slow breath. For a moment, he was glad neither of them was looking at him.

 _You have to get a grip_.

 _Stop thinking about it. You_ _can’t_ _think about it._

 _You just have to get through it_.

He had to keep his eyes lowered, as he followed Tony and Bucky over to the examination bench. He _tried_ to pay attention as Tony explained the step-by-step details of the procedure… But it was just a list of words in his head. Steve couldn’t engage his brain at all right now.

And then he saw Tony pick on one of his many custom-made tools, those delicate, clever hands that Steve knew so well by now… He looked up before he could stop himself. Looking for a smile that wasn’t there, a light that was missing from his eyes…

_What’s wrong, Tony?_

_What did I do?_

_Why-_

_No. Stop. You have to stop._

He would _not_ cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Huh, that’s interesting,” Tony muttered under his breath, squinting at the joint at the top of Bucky’s shoulder. “Dr…Stape, was it? The ‘leading neurologist’? Did he install any actual hardware when he worked on your arm?”

“Well, he wasn’t really a talker,” Bucky remembered dryly. “He didn’t really tell me any of what he was doing… But I don’t remember him saying anything about installing anything…” And then he glanced over at Steve, for confirmation, and his eyes immediately widened in alarm.

_Well, Bucky knows you’re upset now. Great._

_You’ll never hear the end of this._

_Please_ _don’t say anything Buck_.

“Only wiring,” Steve answered, with some difficulty. “He was, uh, quite proud of his patented, innovative wiring… But, no, nothing about hardware…”

“Hm… It’s listed in the medical notes as wiring,” Tony mused, like he was talking to himself. “Not sure that’s entirely accurate, as a categorisation…” And he pondered for half a minute longer, and then added, “Okay, this is potentially a little bit more complicated than I thought – but it’s fine, the principle is the same. I’m just going to have to be a bit more careful…. And do a few things first…” And he walked back over to his tray of tools, not even glancing up.

Steve felt invisible.

He felt tiny, and lost, and confused.

He felt utterly ridiculous. Embarrassed by how hurt he was, embarrassed that he apparently cared so much more than Tony did – embarrassed that it had come as such a shock.

“Okay, I’m going to have to ask you to try and stay _really_ still,” Tony explained apologetically, as he took a screwdriver – or, something a bit like a screwdriver – and _very_ gently lifted one of the smaller panels away from the tip of Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve let his eyes fall on Bucky’s arm, staring somewhere far beyond it, getting lost in the middle distance. He let Tony fade into his peripheral vision, and then he let his vision fade away from his attention altogether. He fell into the silence he was forcing into his own head, concentrating too hard on _not_ thinking to look at anything at all-

Until he saw Bucky’s hand curl into a fist.

“Woah, hang on,” Bucky yelped, obviously alarmed. Steve stood to attention, immediately back in the room, as Tony took a little step back.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, urgently. “Are you okay?”

“Something else did that,” Bucky blurted, giving his own arm an incredulous look.

“Something else did what?” Tony asked, as he walked around the examination table to face him, “What happened? Are you-”

And then Bucky drew back his shoulder, and threw back his arm, and punched Tony right in the jaw – with enough force to send him flying clear across the workshop.

“ _Tony!”_ Steve outright screamed, throwing himself forward in a desperate attempt to get to him. And then he heard Bucky gasp and stopped on instinct, turning just in time to see him drive his fist into the top of the examination table – breaking clear through the surface in a screech of tortured metal. Steve’s professional instincts kicked in and he immediately moved to contain the situation, running to get behind Bucky and pin both of his arms behind his back.

“Woah, woah! It’s okay, it’s okay…” Steve yelled automatically, scrambling to come up with a strategy for this. He realised that only one of Bucky’s arms was fighting him, before Bucky could get the words out,

“It’s not me, I’m not doing this-”

And then, suddenly, Tony was standing right there next to him.

_Oh, thank God he’s okay-_

The relief was so overwhelming that his grip slipped. And then Bucky jerked forward, and Steve snapped back into battle mode, pulling Bucky tighter against him.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay…” Tony assured, taking a confident step forward, screwdriver already in hand. He popped another panel free, and dropped his head to look at it. The examination table shook as Bucky’s metal arm crashed into the side of it, flailing against Steve’s restraint. “It’s alright, two seconds, we got this…” Tony murmured, his eyes sharply determined as he twisted the screwdriver _just_ slightly, and lifted _just so_ -

And then Bucky’s arm fell limp at his side.

For a few seconds, the workshop was full of the sound of anguished panting, as each of them tried to calm themselves down. Steve just about managed a breathless _are you okay?_ Not sure himself which one of them he was talking to… and neither of them could answer him, for another moment.

And then Tony found his voice.

“Okay… I’m so sorry about that…” He started – and then, when Bucky’s eyes snapped up to his, full of confusion and anguish, Tony added more forcefully “That was _my_ fault. Or, no, that was really the fault of the last guy that worked on this-”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky broke in, his voice hoarse “Are you-”

“ _I’m_ fine.” Tony assured him, firmly. “And, you’re going to be fine. I know that was horrible, but, actually, this is good – I mean, at least we’ve found the bug now. We can fix this _right now_ , okay? It’s going to be okay.” And he waited for Bucky to nod at him, somewhat numb, before he looked over at Steve. “Okay, I have a bio-engineering kit, in the cabinet by the sink over there.” He pointed to the left of the workshop-

Steve’s head was still spinning.

He still flooded by the adrenaline that had kicked in at the thought of anything happening to _either_ of them-

He didn’t have Tony’s technical knowledge to reassure him. He didn’t know _what_ the fuck had just happened – he had no way to be sure that the danger had passed.

 _He_ was still in combat mode – he just followed Tony’s instructions, the way he followed commands in battle. Because, in times of imminent threat, you _had_ to focus on the immediate, and trust in the people you’d accepted as an authority…

If there was any stirring of doubt in that moment, any initial idea that something was strange… Steve had to ignore that right now. He had to focus.

He was already moving to where Tony was pointing, as Tony carried on,

“It looks like a laptop, and it’s bright yellow – you can’t miss it.”

Steve threw open the first two cabinets, scanning only for the colour yellow. Nope. Next.

But the next cabinet wouldn’t open.

“Tony, some of these are locked,” he called out. He could hear the gentle murmur of Tony still reassuring Bucky, cut short with an impatient sigh.

“Right, yeah, JARVIS, unlock all the workshop cabinets,” Tony said, dismissively.

“…All of them, sir?” JARVIS enquired, sounding sceptical – but he’d barely finished the last word before Tony clarified, tetchily,

“Yes, _all_ of them,” and then he let go of a frustrated little breath, and turned back to Bucky, the low lull of reassurance starting up again.

There was a gentle clicking sound all around Steve’s head, as all the cabinets in the workshop unlatched. Instantly, Steve went back to throwing open the doors, still just looking for yellow.

He found a cupboard full of dull silver implements – no.

He found a cabinet full of deep, dark red – no.

He opened the final cabinet, his eyes immediately drawn to the flash of bright yellow in the corner. Focused on it and only it, until he had _the_ item in his hands…

And then, once that immediate task had been completed, a little part of his brain was freed to think back to the cabinet he’d just opened…

To recall the flash of claret red that he’d just seen… to wonder what it was…

Steve glanced back at it.

Rows and rows of glass vials…

Full of blood.

_Tony has an entire cabinet full of blood…_

Suddenly, the crisis that had just been so all consuming faded entirely. Steve completely forgot about the kit he was holding – it was total fluke that it didn’t fall from his hand.

He’d only just recognised…

Bucky had just punched Tony in the face, hard enough to throw him forty feet-

Steve knew what a full-force blow to the face from The Winter Solider felt like – just how much strength that arm was capable of when _Bucky_ had no way to restrain it-

It was a miracle that it hadn’t _killed_ Tony

It was _impossible_ that it hadn’t knocked him out….

A strange, cold feeling started rising up in Steve as he thought of Tony… Entirely unharmed, immediately recovered enough to resume his medical duties…

He looked back at the cabinet. The _blood_.

He remembered the feeling of Tony’s fingers wrapped around his wrist… the _power_ he’d felt, throbbing under Tony’s grip…

And then he looked up at Tony.

And now Tony was just… staring at him. His lips slightly parted. His eyes wide and shining…

“Tony…” Steve whispered.

He watched Tony glance at the cabinet. And then he saw Tony swallow, _bravely_.

“Bio-engineering kit, please” Tony said, stiffly, not meeting Steve’s eye.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAUTIONARY NOTES, PLEASE READ:  
> In this chapter, Tony will tell Steve (in a reasonable amount of detail) about the night that Obie turned him, and the trauma he lives with as a result. This does delve into some reasonably heavy themes, and contains dialogue that may be upsetting to people who are uncomfortable reading about emotional or physical abuse. It also describes what Obie did as a non-consensual, intimate, physical assault. If you have any squicks, triggers or concerns regarding these themes, I would urge you to read the end notes before you continue. And if you would like to contact me before reading, please visit me on tumblr (wilmakins.tumblr.com) or email kipling.bear@gmail.com  
> Also, any advice on additional tags this fic might need in light of this chapter are greatly appreciated.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Tony had often wondered what it would be like to be an Avenger.

Only in a detached, hypothetical sort of a way – he  _ used to be  _ good at separating himself from all that. Time was, Tony knew how to muse about the lives of other people without trying to slot himself into them, or comparing them to his own, or thinking too deeply about it. But even back then, Tony would often find himself reading through a daily mission report and gently  _ wondering _ …

What would it be like, to have to save the world when you were scared, or angry, or hurt?

How  _ do _ you switch off all the human reactions enough to defuse a bomb, or attempt hand to hand combat, or stall a terrorist?

How do they  _ really _ feel, while they’re out there being so calm and competent?

And then Tony was forced to undertake the most difficult, high stakes procedure of his life, while the thing that scared him most happened somewhere in the background…

And he still didn’t know how it felt.

He glanced down at Bucky, resting peacefully on a hospital cot. Steve had helped Tony to manoeuvre him onto a gurney and transfer him into the little recovery bay at the back of the medical lab. They’d never bothered with that before, but this time Bucky would be out for at least a few hours, and it just seemed wrong to leave him on the operating table that whole time… Tony remembered thinking that. He remembered asking Steve to help him, his voice stiff in his throat and his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle of Steve’s chest.

Tony remembered every detail of the four-hour surgery he’d just performed, and the prep, and the after care.

He knew every thought that had occurred to him, every idea he’d dismissed and why, every reason for every part of the procedure.

But he didn’t know how he’d been feeling, that entire time.

He didn’t really know what he was feeling  _ now _ .

Even now that the ‘emergency’ had passed, and he didn’t have anything else to concentrate on, it still felt like his own reaction was happening at a distance.

A sadder form of numb…

Empty, maybe.

Tony did a final check of Bucky’s vital signs and ran through all the readouts one more time. Just making sure that this part of proceedings was dealt with, before he went back outside and…dealt with everything else. 

He thought of Steve, perched awkwardly on the edge of one of the work surfaces, his eyes pointedly lowered… like he had been all evening… There was a distinct twisting in Tony’s stomach at that, but he felt oddly separate to it. Like he was trapped inside someone else’s body.

__

“JARVIS, I want Bucky’s vitals monitored, and reported in real time,” he sighed. “And I want to be alerted if he begins to wake up, if he moves from unconscious into sleep, or if any there are any major changes”

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS soothed, like he understood the sensitivity of the situation.

Tony took one last look at Bucky, trying to think if there was anything he’d forgotten… and it occurred to him that he’d miss Bucky, too. He liked Bucky, he’d enjoyed Bucky’s company – he’d come to think of Bucky as a friend.

_ Maybe  _ _ that _ _ would have been better _ .

Maybe if he’d just made a friend of both of them, it would’ve been worth doing all this in the long run. It would’ve been sad that it had to end, and it might’ve made him sad sometimes, to think of it… But Tony could imagine there being a certain bitter-sweetness to that. That he’d have smiled at those memories. That he would be  _ better _ for having done this, even if nothing was really fixed.

Instead of which… He’d fallen in love.

Tony didn’t even know if he already knew that. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever thought that word before… He couldn’t remember freaking out over it, so probably not.

He  _ should _ be freaking out about it – he knew that.

He should be telling himself that it was ridiculous,  _ pathetic _ , to think he was in love with the first nice guy he’d met.

He should be reminding himself that he barely knew Steve, that he had no clue about human beings, that he  _ really _ didn’t know the first thing about love.

He should have refused to think that word in the first place. He would have blocked it out on instinct, maybe as recently as yesterday.

Now, he just acknowledged it, along with all the other unfortunate facts of this catastrophe in progress.

He  _ had _ fallen in love with Steve. And that was, objectively speaking, a disaster.

He did care what Steve thought about him, in a way he’d never expected.

It would hurt to lose him, in a far deeper way than Tony thought he  _ could _ be hurt, back when all this started.

And Steve had just discovered the horrible truth about him, in about the most sinister way possible. He was already out there, in the next room, with that gruesome mental image – that had already happened.

And it had happened in the most foolish, preventable way – it was all Tony’s own fault. That was also a fact.

And now he had to walk out of that door, and watch the man he loved recoil in horror… and then leave Tony’s life forever. Or, seeing as it was  _ Steve,  _ maybe he really would manage to swallow his disgust and say something nice – before he left Tony’s life forever. Either way, this would all be over within an appointment or two. Even the best-case scenario would leave Tony with a pain that was different to and more than any of the pain he’d grown used to.

The  _ fact _ was – this wasn’t better. Tony absolutely  _ would _ be more miserable, and more lonely, and more lost, as a result of this arrangement. He would forever suffer agonies that hadn’t even occurred to him, when he was letting Rhodey rationalise this for him, all those weeks ago.

And still, Tony couldn’t bring himself to wish it hadn’t happened. He knew, if he had the chance to undo all of this, and spare himself all that pain… he wouldn’t take it. Which made no sense, but hey – he’d already accepted he didn’t understand love.

Tony noted all of this in the same disconnected, practical way he’d made mental notes during Bucky’s surgery. The worrying observations and the worst-case scenarios, all on the same functional list of things that had to be dealt with. Of course, he knew why he’d not stopped to feel anything while Bucky was on the operating table – there was an emergency in progress. No time.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he wasn’t a sobbing wreck  _ now _ …

Maybe, if you felt bad enough, it just looped around to the beginning again. Maybe when you go through the worst anxiety you’ve ever experienced, and things immediately get so much worse… Maybe there was just nowhere left for him to go but nowhere.

He dropped his shoulders, and dimmed the lights, and left the room.

Of course, Steve was standing exactly as Tony had pictured him. Worry written all over him as he made himself stand so stoically still, resting his weight on the counter behind him. Holding his wrist, Tony noted, without further analysis.

He felt that same detached sadness all over his skin when Steve glanced up to meet his eye. And then he straightened his back.

_ Might as well get this over with _ .

“So, the surgery was a complete success,” Tony began – because, of course, that was the proper order of things. “It didn’t turn out to be too different to what I thought. Essentially, the interface between the tech in his arm and his nervous system was faulty – probably has been, since HYDRA installed it. And that’s probably what’s behind all the little glitches he’s felt for years. Dr Stapes ‘patented wiring’ was just the first truly incompatible technology it ever tried to adapt to, and…yeah. But, thanks to that… incident, I was at least able to pinpoint exactly where the original fault was. So, that’s been removed. The upgraded system was basically already installed… but that’s finished with now…” Tony felt his voice disappearing, as Steve nodded along with what he was saying. Clearly trying so hard to listen – obviously waiting for something else entirely.

Tony loved everything about that face. He loved the honesty and bravery in that expression, the naked eagerness to get it right… The fact that it was so very  _ Steve _ .

“So, he’ll most likely be unconscious for at least another hour, and after that he’ll probably just want to sleep – he might not even ‘wake up’ in between, per se…” Tony pushed himself on. “But I have JARVIS monitoring him, and I’ll get an alert when his condition changes. So really, now, it’s just a case of waiting for Bucky to wake up properly, and assessing the situation… But, yeah, I think we’re pretty much there…”

“Okay,” Steve breathed, still nodding. And then he added, very softly, “thank you.”

And Tony nodded back.

And then, for a long, dark second, there was silence.

“So, what do you want to know?” Tony asked, his voice entirely different now. Somewhere between resigned and defiant, like a teenager trying to sound mature when they asked what their punishment was going to be.

And, without missing a beat, Steve responded,

“Are you hurt?”

A sudden laugh burst out of Tony’s chest, with no warning what-so-ever. Or maybe it was a sob – he stifled it with his hand before he could find out.

“ _ Are you hurt,” _ he repeated, overwhelmed. “Well, of course that’s your first question…That’s just… Perfect…”

“But  _ are _ you hurt?” Steve pressed, standing away from the counter to fix Tony with a serious look. Tony felt a pressure swelling up in his chest. It was hard to push his voice up through it.

“No, I’m not hurt, I promise,” he assured. And then, because he couldn’t bear the tension of waiting for Steve to ask, he finally forced the words out.

“I’m a vampire.”

…And Steve just carried on looking at him.

Like he was waiting for Tony to finish the sentence.

“So… Stuff like that won’t hurt me…” Tony carried on, simply because he felt like Steve was expecting him to. “It’s…uh, it’s actually quite a complex… _ condition _ , or whatever… But, in lay terms – my body is already dead, basically.” And he left a pause, so that Steve could shudder, or flinch, or…

But, still no. He just nodded,  _ go on _ .

“Or, I don’t know – it can’t keep itself alive, might be a better way to explain it… It  _ would _ just die, if I didn’t…drink blood,” Tony winced, and was forced to drop his eyes.

God, this was all so ugly.

“But, on the plus side of things, my body can use that blood very efficiently, and it uses it for everything. My lungs don’t do anything, unless I need them to speak, or whatever. I  _ can _ use my lungs, I just don’t have to. Like my heart doesn’t bother, unless my body needs to heal a wound, or…” And, a beat too late, Tony realised he couldn’t think of a second example that wasn’t ‘get an erection’. So, he shook his head and skipped ahead to the next sentence. “But it doesn’t take much energy or nutritional value to…you know, barely animate a corpse – so, the rest gets left over so that I can be stronger, and faster, and heal more quickly. So. Y’know. There’s that…”

And he made himself look up at Steve again, a feeling of surrender coming over him when he found that same open expression looking back at him…

“So, that’s why I have a cabinet full of blood. That’s why a punch from Bucky won’t kill me, and why I ended up grabbing you far too hard yesterday, and… well, that’s why everything, really…” he finally trailed off into silence.  _ I don’t know what else you want from me _ .

And then Steve let go of a little breath.

And nodded.

And…almost smiled?

He looked…

_ Relieved? _

_ Does not compute- _

“Sorry, I just… Honestly? I thought maybe there was something wrong with you – or, no, sorry, that came out wrong,” and Steve screwed his face up, and shook his head, and rushed to clarify, “I thought maybe you were going to say you were sick, or… dying. Which is probably a weird thing to jump to, I just – I know SHIELD used to use blood therapy, for some things. And I know some of those people were stronger in the short term, even though they were… still really sick. And, I don’t know, once I had that idea…” he dropped his eyes, shyly, a blush running up his neck. “I was just worried you were going to say something else, I guess.”

And suddenly Tony had  _ all _ the feelings.

He felt like he’d just been hit by an invisible wall of water, like he had been literally thrown from his feet and he was already floating, or thrashing, or…drowning, or  _ something- _

He felt so much love in that moment it was painful, and  _ frightening _ -

He felt so immediately, searingly vulnerable. Like he’d been slashed open, like he was standing there naked and bleeding and dying-

He was  _ stunned _ . So overwhelmingly shocked that even his brain was rendered speechless, his own thoughts coming to him in dazed fragments-

And God, the  _ relief _ . The dizzying, all-encompassing feeling of lightness, like he’d suddenly dropped an overbearing weight – so much more than the burdens he’d picked up since he met Steve-

Panic. A confused, desperate panic – that everything was falling apart, that he didn’t know how to grab a hold of this wonderful thing, that he might break down into tears at any moment-

He felt lightheaded.

He  _ felt _ like he couldn’t breathe-

_ I’m a vampire. _

_ Oh, thank God – I thought there was something wrong with you. _

That was just-

That was-

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes. “That was a stupid thing to say. And pretty random. I don’t know why I-”

“Woah, hang on Steve, just… hang on,” Tony cut him off, holding one palm up to halt him – the other hand clutching at his chest. Steve’s eyes widened in alarm, and he took a step forward.

“Tony, are you-”

“Hang on, sorry,” Tony gasped, taking a little step back.

_ No more words for a minute, Steve. _

_ No more kindness. _

_ Too much. _

_ Just give me a minute. _

And he didn’t manage to say any of that out loud, and he could tell that Steve was still completely baffled by this reaction – but he seemed to register that Tony needed space.

Steve sort of settled on the spot, so obviously fighting a more fundamental instinct to move. Like a Labrador puppy learning the  _ stay _ command.

Which did absolutely nothing to quell the onslaught of emotions that Tony was trying to sort out.

“Sorry, I, uh… I planned for maybe a thousand different reactions to that…” he heard himself mutter. “And, that…that wasn’t any of them…”

And he watched Steve frown, confused,  _ why, what were you expecting? _

And then the flicker of panic behind his eyes,  _ I’ve said the wrong thing; I’ve put my foot in it. _

And then a pained sort of sympathy,  _ I’ve upset him. _

And then he glanced at the floor, and swallowed, and gathered himself, and looked up at Tony again – ready to give it another go.

“I’m sorry. I, uh, I get that a lot, actually…” Steve said, oh so carefully.

There was a sharp clenching in Tony’s chest, and the immediate awareness that he should correct him. He wanted to tell Steve that he hadn’t got it wrong – that he  _ really _ hadn’t got it wrong – but he couldn’t remember how to speak. He couldn’t remember how his mouth worked, how you organised sounds into words, how to translate incoherent thoughts into actual sentences.

“The honest answer is, I probably don’t really know what you mean…” Steve went on, “I mean, everything you just said made sense, but, if there’s more to it than that… If there’s some common public perception of Vampires these days, or if there’s some… other part of it that everyone knows about, or…I don’t know… some reasons it’s different to everything else that’s different in the future, then that passed me by.”

“No, not really…” Tony managed, barely a whisper. “Still just the same soulless-monster-stalking-virgins-in-the-dark perception it’s always been…”

And Steve smiled, and answered, warm and soft and…  _ safe, _

“I know you have a soul, Tony.”

And Tony literally felt his legs weaken.  _ That _ , especially, hit him right in the gut. Whatever else he might’ve had to say evaporated completely; whatever little focus he was capable of was needed to keep him upright, for the time being.

“You thought I’d be afraid you were going to kill me?” Steve questioned, an eyebrow raised,  _ that’s not it, surely? _

“Or…I don’t know…” Tony struggled to remember what he had been afraid of –  _ any _ of the things he’d thought, just a few minutes ago. “That ‘I am technically a corpse’ might be… unnerving…” And Steve blushed, and bit back a smile, and dropped his eyes before he answered,

“I…have no idea if this is going to come out really insensitive, so I’m sorry… But that still just sounds like one of those ‘weird medical facts’ you share in the playground when you’re a kid. You know, like how your body is more bacteria than actual human cells, or that you can’t sneeze with your eyes open… If you’d told eight-year-old me that  _ everyone _ is technically a corpse, and it's just your own blood reanimating you, I’d have immediately believed you and run off to tell Bucky. We didn’t have the internet then, so…” he shrugged, amiably. And then a thought occurred to him, his eyes narrowing in interest as he added, “I think that might be technically true, actually. If you think about it.”

And Tony really thought he was going to laugh. It felt like a laugh, when it was breaking out of his chest – it might even have started out as that. But it ended up a choked off sob, followed by a sudden strangled gasp as Tony made a late attempt to contain it.

“Oh, God, Tony, I’m sorry,” Steve breathed, nakedly anguished, already walking over to him. “I didn’t mean-” And then he stopped sharply, his arms already open, maybe a foot away from Tony – like he’d just remembered he wasn’t allowed to.

And Tony just stepped forward and threw himself against Steve’s chest.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t even known he was going to do it. But he didn’t have time to panic about it, because then Steve’s arms were wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

And, right then –  _ on top of everything else _ – it hit him that this was the first time he’d held anyone, in twenty years. Tony suddenly realised just how physically lonely he was, how deeply and painfully he missed simple contact like this, how much he  _ really _ wanted to feel the warmth and weight of someone else, sometimes.

Tony might even have moaned softly as he let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder – and he didn’t care. He didn’t know enough about what was going on, who he was, how the world worked,  _ any of it _ , to be able to care. It was all he could do to keep on top of the things he was feeling, one second to the next.

And right this second, it was just the solid comfort of Steve pressed against him, and that heady feeling of total safety, and the strength of Steve’s arms…

“I’m sorry if I upset you, I’m-”

“You didn’t,” Tony cut him off, talking into his shirt. “You didn’t say anything wrong, I promise…”

Tony  _ felt _ Steve sigh, the heat of his breath ghosting over Tony’s neck and carrying on as a little shiver, all the way down his back. And for maybe a minute Steve just held him, and Tony just let himself be held, and that was all there was in the world…

“So, Bucky’s okay, and he’s just resting now,” Steve said eventually, whispering into Tony hair, his arms still wrapped tight around him. “And JARVIS will say, if anything happens…”

“Mm-hm” Tony answered, lifting his head to find those beautiful, icy-blue eyes, right there.

“So, do you maybe want to go back downstairs, and sit down and talk?” Steve suggested, nervous and hopeful. “Properly, I mean?”

And Tony could only nod.

*

By the time they stepped out of the elevator, Steve’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his teeth.

If he was forced to name the pandemonium of emotions currently erupting in his chest, he’d have said ‘scared to death’. Anything else he might’ve been feeling, everything he would’ve liked to think about, was overwhelmed by his immediate and all-consuming terror of  _ getting it wrong _ .

Because he could tell this was a serious issue. There was obviously  _ something _ significant or traumatic or socially stigmatising about ‘being a vampire’, at least for Tony. There was clearly something more that Steve should know, some reaction that Tony had been expecting-

But, for the life of him, Steve couldn’t work out what it was.

He really had gotten carried away with the idea that Tony was dying, right before he’d learned the truth. A thousand other ideas had flashed through Steve’s head before he settled on that one –  _ maybe he’s a vampire _ might even have been one of them – but none of those ideas had worried him. It was wondering if Tony was sick that had made his blood run cold and, as people always do, Steve had then started twisting all the evidence to fit the worst possible theory.

He’d glanced around the med lab and wondered  _ why _ Tony had all this high-tech medical equipment, if he’d never intended to treat anyone here.

He’d started to wonder if the whole house was more like a private hospital, if Tony was one of those people that needed constant treatment – if he was actually just too sick to leave.

He’d remembered all those wild rumours about the mysterious disappearance of Tony Stark, how many people had ‘heard’ that Tony had some rare condition or devastating injury.

And it was all because Steve had remembered the ‘plasma therapies’ he’d read about in the SHIELD archives. Experimental treatments, used to stave off terminal illness for a short time, or limit the symptoms of debilitating conditions. Those patients had sometimes shown remarkable strength, speed or endurance, in the hours after treatment was administered –  _ obviously,  _ SHIELD had taken a particular interest in that side effect, and made copious notes.

And then SHIELD had closed the programme, because ultimately, it didn’t work. Any enhancements were purely short term – any medical benefits were minimal. Those patients all ended up as sick as they’d started, eventually… or else, they’d died.

Steve had tried to tell himself he was overreacting, that he’d flat out made it all up… But it was just such a horrible idea. The thought of Tony being ill, or in pain, or…  _ dying _ . The thought of him living all alone with it, for all this time. The thought of Tony being too sick or too weak to ever leave this house…

So, when Tony told him it was actually just that he was a vampire, Steve’s only reaction was relief. And, when that was apparently wrong, he’d found himself wondering…  _ What’s the big deal? _

And clearly  _ that _ was wrong.

Obviously, it  _ was _ a big deal. Apparently, Steve was  _ supposed _ to know why this was a big deal – and, God, Steve hated this feeling anyway.

That sudden humiliated panic that would overwhelm him whenever someone looked at him with that incredulous expression, and Steve had no idea what he was even apologising for. Whether it was an obvious pop culture reference he’d missed, or a terrible tragedy that he’d accidently made light of, or an outdated theory he still believed, or a now offensive turn of phrase…

Jesus, that first week out of the ice-

_ No, Rap, not wrap – you know, the music, Rap? _

_ Did you just make a joke about a plane hitting New York? _

_ You don’t know what AIDs is? _

_ And it’s not ‘Miss’, it’s Agent Lawson. _

__

_ Did you seriously just ask ‘what’s the big deal about being a vampire?’ _

But he really couldn’t work it out.

Fury had seemed pretty casual when he’d introduced Steve to a Norse God and an Incredible Hulk. No one seemed to expect an extreme reaction to either of those revelations – actually, people in the 21 st Century seemed especially laid back about extraordinary people, as far as Steve could tell.

Was there an obvious reason that vampires were different? Something he was just being too insensitive or clueless to see?

Had he just read society wrong this whole time?

_ Or _ , was he missing some crucial piece of information? Was Tony about to give him  _ that _ look, shocked that Steve hadn’t heard about the Vampire Elimination Law, the Great Vampire Tragedy of ’93, or something Steve just wasn’t going to be able to guess?

Should he just ask? Or would that force Tony to explain something painful and personal – something that should be obvious?

Should he try to work it out? No, that was patronising, and disrespectful – and bound to end in disaster.

Should he just be honest, and explain that he didn’t get it? That he  _ really _ didn’t have a problem with it, that he couldn’t even work out what the problem was supposed to be?

He felt like he’d just tried that, and then Tony cried-

Oh, Jesus, Steve really had to get this right.

He could  _ feel _ how important this was to Tony. How much Tony was suffering, how much he needed something from Steve right now.

And Steve wanted so desperately to help him.

He’d never felt such an urgent need to protect someone, he’d never hurt as much as he was currently hurting for Tony-

He felt like he was watching someone he loved bleed out on the other side of a minefield. Knowing he  _ had _ to get to him. Knowing there was simply no way to do it safely.

All he could do now was go for it – and  _ pray _ he didn’t put a foot wrong and blow the whole thing up.

Tony fell heavily into the couch, immediately drawing his legs up and curling into himself. He looked so tired, and… smaller, somehow. Steve had the sudden urge to reach out to him again, to just pull Tony onto his lap and hold him there-

But he stopped himself.

He told himself that he had to  _ think _ about what he was doing now, that he had to be very careful.

So, instead, Steve sat down at the other end of the couch, and resolved to wait until Tony looked up again before he said anything. Give Tony a chance to speak first, if he wanted to. Give Tony a few minutes to centre himself, before they started this thing. Give himself a moment to get everything in order, before he went charging in.

“Sorry,” Tony whispered, his eyes fixed somewhere in the space between them.

“You really don’t have to be sorry, Tony,” Steve answered, sincerely. And Tony smiled, sadly… but didn’t say anything else. So, Steve took a steadying little breath.

_ Start with questions. _

_ Don’t make assumptions. _

_ Let him decide where he wants to go with it. _

“So… If you don’t want to answer any of this, or if you just don’t want to talk about it, you can say…” Steve began, slowly and somewhat awkwardly. But then, at last, Tony looked at him, and gave him the tiniest little nod,  _ no, it’s okay. _

Okay. That was one step in.

“So, are vampires a thing people have heard of, then?” He asked, a little self-consciously.

“Uh, no, not really,” Tony muttered, dropping his gaze again. “There aren’t many, and,  _ apparently _ , the ones that do exist tend to think of themselves as a… I don’t know, superior species, or something? So, you know, there’s a lot of ‘we do not share our secrets’, ‘we do not let outsiders in’. Which probably sounds pretty rich, coming from me – but I’m really not trying to protect an ancient tradition here,” he scoffed at that, like there was something bitterly funny about it. “But, no, aside from the few there are, and the few people they may have secretly told, no one knows. That vampires are real, I mean.”

“So…What reaction were you expecting me to have?”

“I don’t know – brandish a cross and throw holy water at me?” Tony shrugged, obviously doing his best to make light of it. So, Steve tried to match the tone.

“I know we’ve come a long way since the forties, but we weren’t that primitive,” he answered dryly – and Tony laughed. Actually laughed.

__

_ Okay, that’s another step forward. _

“Doesn’t work anyway,” Tony muttered, still smiling. “Also, I can’t turn into a bat – which I’m still a little bit bitter about, actually. And I can’t fly – which I’m still  _ a lot _ bitter about.” And then Steve laughed.

“Do you have a reflection?” He asked, suddenly realising that Tony had no mirrors anywhere in the house.

“I do have a reflection, yes,” Tony grinned.

“Do you cast a shadow?”

“Yes.”

“Can you go into people’s houses without them inviting you?”

“Not legally,” Tony deadpanned, and Steve laughed again.

“Do you sparkle?”

And Tony caught his eye more deliberately then, the amused grin melting into a more thoughtful smile when he answered,

“You tell me.”

Steve was caught out by that. A completely different part of his head reacted, a part of him that he’d tried to put on hold while there was something more important to talk about. It was a different sort of smile that washed through him then, a different voice that answered,

“So, that’s a vampire thing, huh?”

And Tony blinked, and glanced down, shyly. Steve could swear he could tell Tony was blushing, even though he wasn’t.

Well, that felt like another step… although Steve wasn’t entirely sure in which direction…

A whole other range of options occurred Steve then. Other questions about what Tony might be feeling, other outcomes to consider… other things he might like to say…

And then he remembered the way Tony had looked at him when he first walked out of Bucky’s room, and he kicked himself.

_ What the fuck are you thinking? _

_ This is  _ _ not _ _ the time to flirt with him. _

“So, is any of that vampire stuff true?” He asked, back to his careful voice.

“Well, the blood drinking, obviously…” Tony sighed, the smile fading. “And I can’t go out during the day. Actually, it probably wouldn’t kill me, unless I got stuck somewhere really bad for a long time… But it’d hurt,  _ a lot _ . And sun burns take a  _ long _ time to heal. And they can leave permanent damage, which not many things can… So. No more sunbathing. And, uh,  _ theoretically _ , I could use the blood to stay alive forever. I mean – to be honest, I doubt that’s actually true. Even if I managed to avoid being starved or sun scalded, I’m still pretty sure that this body would wear out after a couple of thousand years or so…” and he had to pause there, and swallow something down, before he forced himself on. “But all the vampires I did manage to find  _ any _ details about were all hundreds of years old. So, I’m going to claim ‘immortal’, too.”

Steve briefly considered pointing out that some of his best friends could claim ‘immortal’, under that definition. But that sounded too much like he was saying it wasn’t a big deal, which he knew wouldn’t help.

“So, were you always a vampire?” He asked instead-

And Tony flinched.

“No,” he bit out, closing his eyes. “No. Since I was 21.”

_ Dangerous ground. _

_ He doesn’t want to talk about this. _

_ Step away – very carefully. _

But, before Steve could think of how to change the subject, Tony carried on talking.

“We had a… ‘family friend’. Obadiah Stane,” he said it as though it had a bad taste. “He worked for my dad. I didn’t even know he  _ was _ a vampire… until…Well, until I found out…”

Steve could tell that every word was painful. He wanted to tell Tony that he didn’t owe any explanations, that he didn’t have to talk about this…

But then he thought… maybe the reason Tony was forcing himself through this was that he  _ did _ have to do it…

“He was… It was… Not long after my parents died…” Tony spoke as though he was being strangled, leaving longer and longer gaps as he struggled on. “And…I was living with him… Well, technically, he was living with me… It was  _ my _ house…” And that final pause trailed into silence, as Tony dropped his shoulders, and shook his head.

_ Okay… _

_ He  _ _ does _ _ want to talk about this, but it’s really difficult… _

_ So, how can I make it easier? _

And Steve still didn’t understand anything about being a vampire, really. He still didn’t know what the big deal was – so, he couldn’t factor that into his strategy at all.

…But he did know Tony.

And he knew, if there was any question Tony was going to feel comfortable with, it was,

“How does it work?”

Tony looked up at him… and almost smiled. His eyes softened, and Steve couldn’t help thinking he looked  _ grateful _ , which broke his heart-

_ But it’s the right question. _

_ Safer ground. _

_ Keep going. _

“Becoming a vampire, you mean?” Tony clarified, just a little more fluidly.

“Yeah. I mean… Scientifically, or… practically, or whatever”

“Well, scientifically, I still don’t really know,” Tony admitted. “There’s not exactly a lot of research out there, and all the stuff you  _ can  _ read is all … legends and mystics and ancient rites, and other not very useful stuff. Everything Obie told me was bullshit – and decidedly  _ not  _ scientific. I mean, I did try looking into it, a long time ago… But it’s just not a useful study, only one test subject, with no hypothesis,” he shrugged. “But,  _ practically _ speaking… The vampire has to kill the person first. They have to bite a person, and drain all of their blood – and, a lot of the time, that person just dies. But, if the vampire times it right, and offers the dying person  _ their _ blood, right before they actually die, sometimes they drink. And, because it’s vampire blood, their body can use it to save themselves, to keep themselves alive… But then they’re changed forever…”

And then Steve saw the little flicker of anger behind all that sadness – and, at last, it dawned on him.

Or, no, the opposite of that. A thought had suddenly –  _ finally _ – occurred to Steve, and sucked all the warmth and light out of the world. It rose up in Steve’s chest like icy water, as he realised-

_ Tony didn’t ask for this. _

_ Someone else  _ _ decided  _ _ this for him. _

_ That’s _ _ what the big fucking deal is. _

“I mean, there are apparently things they can do to up their chances of not killing the person… which I don’t want to think about, but I can’t… make go away…” Tony carried on, his throat tightening again. “I found a book once. And I wish I hadn’t, but I can’t unsee it now, so… But it was apparently written by a vampire, like, five hundred years ago, about this secret circle of vampires in Italy… made it sound like they had their own little society, there… And it made it sound like people  _ asked _ to be vampires…” Tony paused for a second to wince.

Steve clenched his jaw, and took a long, slow breath as subtly as he could. The true scale of the betrayal Tony was describing just kept unfolding in his head. The injustice of it. The cruelty of it…

“But, yeah,  _ apparently _ , these poor deluded kids in 16 th Century Florence would ask vampires to turn them… And then it was considered good practice to let them drink vampire blood for a few weeks first, to help their chances…” Tony outright shuddered at that, swallowing heavily before he added, “And I have thought about every single meal I ate in the weeks before it happened, and I really  _ don’t _ think he could… possibly have… But, yeah, I don’t like to think about it.”

And then Tony glanced up at him, and his eyes flashed wide with alarm.

“I’m sorry,” he corrected sharply. “That was horrible, I don’t know why I said-”

“No, Tony, it’s not that,” Steve cut in, when he realised that his disgust and anger must’ve been clear on his face – that he wanted Tony to know who it was really for. “I’m sorry, I just hadn’t thought that… obviously you didn’t ask for this-”

“No one would ask for this,” Tony asserted, bitterly. “I don’t believe any of those people in Florence asked for this. Whatever a vampire says they  _ wanted _ .”

“That’s not it,” Steve told him, not even nervous about it anymore. “Honestly, if this is being a vampire, then I can actually believe someone would ask for it. I can absolutely believe people would want to be like you. It’s not what you are that upsets me – it’s that someone decided that  _ for _ you. And if I look furious or disgusted, then I am. But not at you.”

And Tony just looked at him, dazed, or confused, or shocked…

_ Unknown ground. _

_ You’re just going to have to make a run for it. _

“Look, Tony… I chose to make myself into a living science experiment. I’ll tell you the truth, sometimes the thought of it scares me even now. It terrified me then, thinking of all the ways it could go wrong, what I might turn into. I still think about how different my body is now, that it doesn’t work like a  _ normal _ body, that I have no idea if I age or what side effects might randomly appear when I’m sixty. I still think about the fact that I was technically dead for seventy years – an actual corpse, not even a reanimated one. I still wonder where my mind was all that time… where I came back from… But I chose all that. I chose to take that serum. I chose to crash that plane. And even if I didn’t directly choose to come to the 21 st Century – no one chose that for me. But if I think of someone secretly dosing me with the serum, or someone else  _ deciding _ that I’d be happier in the future and just putting me to sleep one day…”

And Steve had to stop then to swallow a sudden taste of bile, he was so enraged.

And Tony just carried on looking at him, his eyes shining now.

“And… He was a friend?” Steve asked, dreading the answer.

“Like family,” Tony whispered, sadly. “Knew him my whole life. My dad left him in charge of the business, if anything happened to him before I turned 21… Because he would look after it for me. He was my ‘legal guardian’…”

Steve was just going to wait until his heart was done breaking, before he said something… But then, out of nowhere, Tony seemed to find his voice.

He just carried on talking,

“He came up to my bedroom one night, said he wanted to talk to me. And this was right around the time he was supposed to be transferring the company over to me, and not that long after my parents – and I wasn’t dealing with it very well, I’ll be honest. Drinking too much, coming in too late, saying stupid things just to wind people up… So, by then,  _ everyone _ had given me the ‘straighten up and fly right’ speech. I was just expecting him to do that… But he was actually really nice to me. He gave this whole speech about how he had faith in me, and how I had all this potential… How he knew the world was giving me a hard time, but that was because the world didn’t understand some things. He said,  _ there’s more to this world than you see, there’s a better world out there, for special people like you… _ And then he murdered me.”

Steve felt his breath catch, a treacherous heat flushing his face.  _ Oh, God, Tony… _

“And then he… made me drink…” Tony screwed his eyes shut, and flinched away from that thought,  _ no, still not talking about that part.  _ “And then I think I passed out, or… died… And I remember waking up on the floor of my bedroom, and crawling to my bathroom, and locking the door. Thinking that I was bleeding to death, and that Obie had just gone mad, and that I had to think of a way to get out of the house before I died, before he found me and finished the job… And then I realised I wasn’t dying. And then Obie knocked on the door, really gently, and just starts telling me that he knows how scary it is, because it happened to him, but it’s all going to be okay… And I  _ freaked out _ . I screamed, and cried, and I swore at him –  _ for hours _ . And I hated him  _ so  _ much, and I was so sure that I was going to kick him out or run away from him or kill him for doing this, just as soon as I could. But…”

And then Tony seemed to melt further into himself, biting his bottom lip…  _ Ashamed _ …

Steve leant forward to touch him, just to move closer to him – but Tony carried on talking before Steve could reach him.

“I was scared, really. I didn’t know what I was – I didn’t even know I was a vampire, yet. And I didn’t know how to find out, except for asking him. And, I was just so tired, and… This is going to sound… But he was still Obie, then. It was like, I  _ knew _ he wasn’t… who I thought he was. But, all those years of thinking of him as, like, an uncle, and those last few months when he was the only person I could turn to… It just… hadn’t updated, yet, I guess. It still  _ felt _ like…” he trailed off into a heavy sigh,  _ I can’t explain it. _ “So, eventually, I let him in. I  _ let  _ him tell me all this stuff… How, I was part of this ancient, noble race now, how when I ‘came of age’ I’d start to feel a natural bloodlust, and I shouldn’t be scared of it. How eventually I’d have to bite people, but it was okay, because I’d naturally know how to do it safely – how he could teach me to be a vampire. And it all just made it sound like I was going to turn into a monster one day… and he said that people would always see it that way, but it wouldn’t really be that way, and one day I’d understand…”

Steve actually felt faint, for a second. He couldn’t believe there was anywhere else for this rage to go…

But this was the reason Tony never left his house, wasn’t it?

Not because he was a vampire – because this man had made him hate himself for it.

And he’d done it  _ deliberately _ -

“I let him stay,” Tony said it like it was an admission. “For… weeks. I… listened to him. And then, one day he tells me about a  _ loyalty between vampires _ . How, from now on, I’m a vampire first. That everything, even the business arrangements, had to include that… Turned out, there’s a vampire running a terrorist group out in Afghanistan. And Obie tried to convince me that all the US laws didn’t concern me anymore, and human wars weren’t important to us now, and ultimately I had to sell to this man if he asked me to – because we were the same now. And I snapped. Kicked him out of the house in the middle of the day. He stood on the doorstep screaming for about ten minutes before he finally had to run for cover. That would’ve left a scar.”

“Good,” Steve muttered, before he could stop himself. Tony breathed a joyless little laugh.

“I actually felt bad for it, at the time…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t feel bad for it now,” Tony assured him, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I don’t bite people, by the way. I do just drink donor blood – which is mostly animal blood. And it’s fine. And I have  _ no _ idea how I would bite someone, so that whole ‘it’ll come naturally’ thing was bullshit…”

_ But you still think you have to tell me all this. _

_ You still expect me to be scared of you. _

_ You’re still scared of yourself. _

“Where is he now?” Steve asked, his voice suddenly hard and sharp.

“Dead,” Tony sighed. “Not ‘cos of me, though. He went back to Afghanistan after that, I guess to try and negotiate directly, or something… Must’ve gone wrong, whatever it was, because the Ten Rings tied him up and left him to starve to death in the desert. Although, sunlight like  _ that _ probably would’ve killed him first,” and then he seemed to catch the intent in Steve’s expression, and raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because if you’d said he was still out there somewhere I would’ve gone and found him,” Steve answered, dead serious.

_ And killed him for this _ .

Tony’s eyes widened, like he’d heard exactly what Steve was thinking… and was glad.

“Tony, listen to me,” Steve said, shuffling along the couch so that he was sitting right next to him. “I know  _ you _ . And I like you, and I trust you, and I respect you a hell of a lot more than pretty much anyone I’ve ever met. And I don’t know shit about being a vampire, and it would never occur to me that I needed to – all I know is that the one vampire I’ve ever met is one of the kindest, smartest, most humane people there is. And that’s all I need to know. You don’t  _ ever _ have to reassure me you’re not a monster. I would never think that, ever. And I am so sorry for what that man did to you, I don’t have words to tell you how hurt and angry I am on your behalf, and actually I wish I  _ could _ kill him – but that doesn’t change what you are.”

Without even thinking about it, Steve reached over and took Tony’s hand.

And Tony jumped, rather than flinched…

And then he sort of froze…

“None of this is your fault, Tony,” Steve whispered. “You have  _ nothing _ to be ashamed of, nothing to apologise for…”

And he felt Tony’s hand curl around his, and squeeze very gently…

And, oh, there was just so much. All the reasons Steve loved him, all the things Tony deserved, all ways this was so unfair. Steve knew he couldn’t possibly undo all these years of trauma, whatever he said… But he wanted so much for Tony to at least know how much he cared. That he  _ would _ do whatever it took, however long it took, to help Tony with this. If he could only find the words for  _ that _ , if he could just explain-

And then he felt Tony tug his arm, pulling Steve closer as he leaned into him-

And kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Tony tells Steve about the night that Obie turned him into a vampire, which includes discussion of the fact that:  
> Tony did not, and would not have consented to that violation.  
> Tony's fears that Obie was putting blood into his food for weeks before it happened, in order to prepare him - and the fact that he still doesn't know if that happened.  
> Obie's deliberate campaign of coercive control and emotional abuse, in which he convinced Tony to hate himself and rely only on Obie, as a means of taking over the business.  
> Tony's shame at letting Obie stay after the attack happened, and the fact that he didn't immediately lose all familial feelings towards him.  
> Tony's internalised hatred of himself and his body, because of what Obie did to him.
> 
> If you would like more details, please get in touch via the methods listed above. If you are uncomfortable with these themes and would still like to continue with the story, I'd be happy to provide a summary without the details - these issues are not discussed again in anywhere near this much depth again. 
> 
> And, again, any further suggestions on tags...  
> Thank you  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually explicit scenes in this update.

Steve parted his lips, the moment Tony kissed him.

Steve leant into him, one hand sliding over the back of Tony’s neck, the other still holding Tony’s hand, fingers interlaced.

Steve shifted his weight onto his knees, so that he could pull Tony against his chest-

Steve had nothing to do with any of this, by the way.

His brain had apparently short circuited, the second Tony touched him. There wasn’t a single thought in Steve’s head as Tony melted against him, the warmth of Tony’s mouth against his, the sting of Tony’s fingertips, digging into his back. It just _felt_ right. It came completely naturally, in a way that Steve hadn’t felt since he’d been thrown into an alien future-

And he didn’t think anything of it.

He didn’t stop to ask himself what was going on… He knew this. He _was_ this. This was so easy, and good, and right…

And right _now_.

It was just this moment, this immediate feeling, this wonderful, innate understanding. 

There was a giddying rush of freedom, something that felt so familiar and so foreign all at once – something he’d known so well, but such a long time ago… It had been years since Steve just _was_. For the first time in forever, there was _no_ part of Steve trying to translate what was happening, no little voice second guessing whether he’d understood the situation, not even the slightest shred of worry about what would happen next-

He’d forgotten anything would happen next – there was only _now_.

He _loved_ Tony-

He _wanted_ him-

Steve wanted to kiss him, and hold him, and _have_ him. He wanted to tell Tony again and again how amazing he was, he wanted Tony to believe that and feel that and _know_ that-

Steve wanted to make this good for him…

Tony sighed, pleadingly – and Steve loved that sound. He loved Tony’s voice, and his smile, and the way he held himself. He loved Tony’s body, the way he fit so perfectly against him, he loved the way Tony moved.

Oh, Steve wanted to run his palms over that flawless skin.

He wanted to touch that soft, dark hair. He’d wanted to do that for _so_ long-

So, he did.

He just let his hand run up along Tony’s neck and into his hair, cradling his head, kissing him deeper. He felt Tony drop his other hand, so that he could throw his arm around Steve’s neck, and immediately Steve moved to grab him by the hip, pulling Tony into him-

“Sir? I apologise for the interruption…”

Steve didn’t even know he’d heard it. It was just another meaningless background noise, behind that incessant pounding that he didn’t know was his own heartbeat-

And then Tony flinched away from him, and looked up, incredulous,

“ _Seriously_ JARVIS?” He snapped. “ _What?_ ”

Steve broke into a grin. He was responding to everything on a very basic level, and he knew immediately that he liked that reaction very much-

_He doesn’t want to stop_

_He wants this_

And then a little flicker of perception. The vaguest memory of context…

_Tony Stark just kissed me._

_Tony’s arms are around my neck._

The distant awareness that it _meant_ something, that this revelation was bigger than what was happening in the moment, that this was actually so much better than how it felt right now.

A decidedly _not_ distant excitement-

“I apologise, sir. But you were quite clear that I should inform you of any changes to Sergeant Barnes’ condition” JARVIS reminded him, diplomatically. “Specifically, you asked to be informed when the general anaesthetic wore off.”

Steve saw a flash of stunned confusion in Tony’s eyes, and then a wave of realisation.

“Right, shit, sorry, yeah,” Tony muttered, loosening his grip and leaning away. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, sir. His vital signs are all within the ideal range, and he is recovering well.” JARVIS assured.

“Is he waking up?”

“No sir, I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” JARVIS soothed. “He’s barely stirred, and has now fallen into a deep sleep. If I were pushed to make an estimate, I would say he’ll be asleep for the remainder of the night.”

_So, we don’t have to stop_

_Please don’t stop_

Steve didn’t think it in words, exactly – but the instinct was unmistakable. He’d had the _briefest_ pang of guilt, along with Tony, that he’d not been attentive enough when JARVIS first spoke up… But Bucky was fine. Steve had heard that much, and it was all he needed to hear-

Because he just didn’t want to stop.

_This_ was everything Steve had missed so much, and wanted so much, and _needed_ so much.

This intimacy and this immediacy-

This was the first time he’d felt truly alive since 1945.

After all this time overthinking it and trying not to think about it and worrying about it and pretending he wasn’t worried about it – and it had just happened.

And it was wonderful,

And it was _Tony-_

Steve felt his fingers curling into the fabric of Tony’s shirt, an unconscious desire to keep him, to stay in this moment.

“Right, thanks J…” Tony muttered… his voice slightly dazed now… his body stiffer…

Withdrawing.

Retreating.

“Let me know if there’s anything else,” Tony added, in almost the same cool, professional tone that had hurt Steve so much, earlier in the evening. “I won’t… yell at you next time. I promise.”

There was a cold, creeping feeling along Steve’s spine.

Oh… Maybe he _should’ve_ second guessed this, a little bit…

_Now_ his brain rebooted. Just a loading screen at first, a warning message: _something huge is about to hit you. Please wait_. Then an overload of information, as all the things he should have been thinking reappeared, all at once, in no particular order. Moving far too fast to read. Suddenly, he had the horrible feeling that he’d lost his head at the worst possible moment.

…Then he remembered that he was _just_ telling himself how important this was, how he had to think very carefully, that this was all about Tony…

And it wasn’t that Steve could think of anything he’d done wrong… yet. It was the worrying realisation that he should’ve thought about that _first._ That he didn’t even know if he’d just done something insensitive or damaging, at the worst possible time-

He should stop and think about it now

…Oh, God, he’d lost himself completely. He didn’t know where to start-

He didn’t want to lose this moment-

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, dropping his arms. There was an instant, plunging disappointment in Steve,

_He doesn’t want this_

_He doesn’t want me_

Which he immediately felt guilty for-

Christ, this was a lot.

“Please don’t be sorry,” Steve responded, before he could stop himself.

“No, but I… I shouldn’t have… That was… really selfish, I’m sorry…” Tony muttered, looking down. “And you are…just… _impossibly_ sweet, and… I’m just… sorry I forced that on you, when you’re just trying to be nice – you don’t have to go along with that, it’s okay, I know.”

And Steve felt like he’d been punched in the throat.

It took all the air out of his body, it physically _hurt_ , when he realised…

It wasn’t that Tony didn’t want this. Tony didn’t think _he_ wanted this.

That was worse.

That Tony didn’t believe Steve _could_ want this. Tony thought Steve was… _going along with this?_ What, out of… pity, or something?

_Oh, Tony-_

“You think you forced that on me?” Steve gasped, struggling to express how completely wrong that was.

Suddenly, all that mattered was explaining how wrong that was.

Which was focusing, at least. All those doubts and neuroses he was just about to fall into had faded completely. All Steve was thinking about now was how he could tell Tony that he wanted this. If it was even possible to put into words how much he wanted this. How absurd it was for Tony to say that, when Steve had spent weeks daydreaming about this exact moment. How baffling it was that Tony thought that, when Tony was… astounding, beautiful… brilliant-

Jesus, Steve _knew_ he knew more words than this-

“Sorry, I just meant… That was probably an awkward…” Tony stuttered. “I mean, if you’re thinking that I’ve just massively misinterpreted and now you’re going to have to reject me at a vulnerable time or – I haven’t, I know, I didn’t mean to… I’m not going to feel rejected-”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve cut in, when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

And Tony’s eyes snapped up to meet his… Such _beautiful_ eyes…

“If you want to know what I’m thinking, mainly I’m just thinking that I want to kiss you again,” Steve told him, firmly. “I have wanted to kiss you since the first moment I met you. I have thought about you – I have thought about _this_ – every minute of every day since then…” He lost his footing a bit when he saw Tony’s mouth fall open, his eyes widening in a mix of amazement and confusion… he was so perfectly pretty then that Steve could’ve given in and just kissed him again.

But he so much wanted to tell him-

“The only reason I’m doing this, the _only_ thing I’m thinking right now, is that I want you – and maybe I should be thinking more than that… And if I shouldn’t have – if that was exactly the wrong thing to do, right now, then I’m sorry-”

“Oh, God, Steve, no-” Tony broke in, aghast. “No, I didn’t mean… You didn’t…”

Steve leant into him again, putting his hands on Tony’s arms and looking right at him when he asked,

“Tony, do you want this?”

“Yes,” Tony answered immediately, like he’d been completely baffled by the question. “Of course, I do – I kissed _you_.”

And somewhere, Steve did know that this was a complicated situation. There was a little voice, _way_ at the back of his head, still trying to bring various points to his attention,

_You have your own issues with sex that you shouldn’t be putting on him_

_You have no idea what he’s going through right now, you shouldn’t complicate things_

_You haven’t even thought about the fallout of this – at all._

But the situation just didn’t _feel_ complicated. In that moment, Steve felt completely confident he knew what was going on, it seemed perfectly obvious what he should do.

He knew that Tony wanted him. He could see that Tony was being completely honest; he could feel it.

And God he wanted Tony. In such a simple, primal way… His whole body was trying to lean towards him, his fingers flexing against Tony’s skin, however hard Steve tried to stay still.

And he wanted Tony to feel wanted. He wanted Tony to feel loved, and needed, and beautiful. Steve wanted to take all that pain and doubt away from him, just for a minute. He wanted to be the thing that made Tony feel good.

And maybe there _was_ more to it than that – but in the moment, everything just seemed to fit.

“And then I kissed you back,” Steve reminded him, bringing one hand to the side of Tony’s face, gently tilting his head up-

And Tony leant up and kissed him again before he could even finish making his point.

Steve threw his arms around him immediately, one across his shoulders, one tight around his waist, pulling Tony hard against him. Tony relaxed into it, opening his mouth, one hand caressing up along Steve’s neck and into his hair. Steve gripped him tighter, rocking against him, a sharp heat shooting through his hips as Tony moved to meet him, his other hand grabbing roughly at Steve’s shoulder. Steve felt Tony moan softly against his lips, clawing the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt into a fist, kissing him increasingly desperately.

Steve felt a sudden, stabbing _need_ , low in his groin. Not just the deep, throbbing ache of Tony grinding against him or the growing desire for more of him - although, there _was_ that. But it was more than that.

Steve wanted to hear him moan again.

He wanted Tony to want him, he wanted to _feel_ it.

He wanted to give Tony everything he wanted.

He wanted to make Tony come.

Steve lifted Tony into his chest, so that he could turn and lie him out on the couch behind him. Tony grabbed at him instantly, pulling Steve on top of him by the front of his shirt. And then, as soon as Steve kissed him again, Tony ran his hands up along his back, under his clothes, stroking the flats of his palms over Steve’s bare skin. Steve shivered, and immediately moved to shrug his t-shirt up over his shoulders, wanting to feel more of Tony pressed against him, not wanting anything in the way. Tony caught on quickly, snatching at the shirt and tugging it over Steve’s head. And then Tony’s hands were all over him, caressing desperately over Steve’s arms and shoulders and chest, his eyes wide and dark and his lips just slightly swollen…

“Jesus Tony,” Steve breathed, rushing to unbutton Tony’s shirt, running his fingers over every inch of newly exposed skin as he went. And then he dropped his head to kiss Tony’s chest, and the thrill of it actually caught him off guard; having so much of him, having it be this real. The softness of him and the taste of him, the way he arced up into it. The almost pleading little sigh…

Steve shifted his weight so that he was kneeling between Tony’s legs, so that he could lean over him and kiss him again, and again, his hands stroking along Tony’s sides as he trailed kisses from the centre of his chest up to his neck, and then up along his throat, and then behind his ear. Tony grabbed the back of his head, and whimpered so softly that Steve almost didn’t hear it, arching his whole body up against him.

“You are _stunning_ Tony,” Steve whispered, his hands working their way back down over Tony’s chest, and his stomach, curling their way over his hips. “You are beyond perfect. You are so much more interesting and dazzling and extraordinary than just perfect-”

He felt Tony buck sharply in his hands, his grip tightening in Steve’s hair.

And then Steve caressed his palm roughly over Tony’s thigh, and then between his legs – over the outline of his cock, hard and thick against the fabric of his pants.

“ _Jesus fuck, Steve-”_ Tony barked, writhing up against his hand,

“Oh God, I want you,” Steve breathed, tracing his fingers over the length of him, his own cock pulsing painfully when Tony moaned. Steve pressed a long, slow kiss against Tony’s throat, as he tugged the zipper at Tony’s fly, and slipped his hand into his pants to stroke him through his underwear-

_Christ, he’s so wet-_

“ _Please_ Steve,” Tony begged, his voice high and needy.

Steve began kissing his way back down along Tony’s chest, quicker and messier and more urgently than before. He heard Tony whine softly when he had to move his hand, so that he could tug Tony’s clothes down over his legs, undressing him as he was still kissing his stomach. And then Steve lifted his head…

“Jesus Tony…You are…just…” He struggled weakly, still trying to take it in. The sight of Tony lying there, open and exposed for him, the flawless expanse of his chest, his cock hard and leaking against his skin. Steve’s mouth literally watered. He couldn’t think of words enough- “Please, Tony, can I-”

“God yes, please yes,” Tony begged, parting his legs, arching his back. “ _Please.”_

And, fuck, Steve _wanted_.

So, he dropped his head, and slid Tony’s cock into his mouth.

*

Truthfully, Tony didn’t even know what he was saying yes to.

He didn’t even stop to ask himself – what did it matter? The answer was yes. _All_ the answers were yes. Tony just wanted Steve. Anything. Everything. This was the first time he’d even allowed himself to want, in twenty years, and it was like a dam had burst. Suddenly, Tony wanted so much it was dizzying. He felt every moment of loneliness, every frustrated desire, every buried trauma for the last two decades – how _desperately_ he longed to let that go, how painfully he needed this.

And, yes, there was _still_ that nagging little voice in there somewhere.

That snide little whisper that Obie had planted in his head… or, who knew, maybe it was there even before that. Cultivated and nurtured by so many betrayals, and so many years of shame and isolation…

_You just threw yourself at the first person who tried to listen to you._

_You still can’t keep him. Nothing has really changed._

_Everything will still be broken in the morning._

But, for just a moment, Tony had stopped listening to it.

He didn’t _care_.

His whole body was still tingling with the memory of Steve’s kisses. His head was still full of Steve’s sweet, kind words. He was completely lost in this wonderful, beautiful moment, and so desperate to stay here-

_Yes Steve, yes…_

And then he felt the soft, wet heat of Steve’s mouth-

_“OhGodSteveFuckFuckFuck”_ Tony gasped, as Steve took the length of him – right to the back of his throat. “Oh fuck, Oh God-”

Tony let his head fall back against the couch, his hips jerking involuntarily, his mind whiting out completely. A low, aching pleasure tightened deep inside him. A sharp heat pulsed in the tip of his cock as Steve drew back, slowly, the flat of his tongue pressed to Tony’s skin.

_Oh fuck, I’m going to come-_

Tony forced himself to take a long, slow breath… and found he had to stop himself from panting-

He was _breathing_.

He could feel his own heart beating hard against his ribs.

Every part of him working to keep up with this-

_Alive_

“Oh God, God Steve, please,” he babbled, mindlessly, his hand grasping at Steve’s shoulder entirely of its own accord. And then he felt Steve’s tongue flit over the head of his cock, like an electric shock. And then the slow drag of those beautiful lips as Steve took the length of him again, and then the tight heat of his throat. “Oh fuck, so good, please, oh please-”

Steve pressed his thumbs into the sensitive flesh just below Tony’s hipbones, the sudden jolt of it running along his spine. And then Steve’s hand’s stroking over the curve of Tony’s hips, over his thighs, matching the slow, firm movement of his mouth. Tony moaned, rocking up to meet him, letting that pleasure roll up his back, growing, building, _aching_ -

God, he wanted to come-

He never wanted this to stop-

“Steve- _fuck_ , Steve, oh please, I’m going to-” but his voice was swallowed by a strangled cry, as Steve took the tip of his cock in his mouth, and _sucked_ -

_Oh God, so good-_

_So close-_

He grabbed roughly at the back of Steve’s head, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, every muscle in his body tensed in a desperate need for release.

“ _Oh-please-Steve-please-”_

And then at last there was that wave of pleasure that just carried on breaking, crashing through him, taking everything with it.

“Jesus fuck Steve, oh my God…” Tony panted, the aftershocks still shuddering through him. He could feel Steve’s mouth, still moving against him, swallowing – and Jesus, the thought of that-

Oh God, he was breathless. Genuinely breathless.

And then, finally, he’d let go of _everything_.

All resistance, all pressure, all pain. All that frustration and longing and disappointment… just gone.

And in its place, there was only this warm, heavy feeling of total comfort, washing through him like water. Tony’s body collapsed from under him, falling as a dead weight into the couch. And for an endless moment, he just felt as though he was floating, suspended in this thick, heady sensation. Everything felt good. Every inch of him throbbed with pleasure, every shapeless thought that drifted through his head was happy.

And then he looked up.

And Steve was just… _movingly_ beautiful. Like a living, breathing piece of art. Tony let his eyes drift up over that glorious chest, over the smooth planes of flawless skin, the imposing physical strength of him… He looked up at Steve’s beautiful lips, flushed an even darker shade of pink, fuller and softer than Tony had ever seen them. And then at last he met Steve’s eye, and it was like he’d just stepped off of a cliff. Tony just _fell_ into the intensity of that gaze, losing himself completely in the look of honest wonder on Steve’s face.

Oh, he wanted to stay lost here.

He _couldn’t_ go back yet.

It was like the first bite of food when you’re starving, or finally sitting down when you’re exhausted, or coming into the warm after so long out in the bitter, endless cold… He just couldn’t stop now. The thought of going back to that sad and lonely reality was suddenly overwhelming, terrifying, so much worse than actually living it had been. And he _knew_ that had to, eventually he had to-

_But, Jesus, not yet._

He couldn’t, yet.

“Steve,” he whispered, his hand subconsciously reaching up to him, even though his body was still too heavy to move. And then he saw Steve’s eyes flash with such naked, vulnerable hunger, and there was an almost painful twinge as Tony’s cock made a valiant attempt to respond – far too soon.

_He wants me._

_He really wants me._

And, God, Tony wanted him.

He wanted _more_ of him – more of this.

He wanted just a little bit more time in this wonderful parallel world he’d fallen into.

“Jesus Tony, you have no idea how hot you are right now,” Steve breathed, running his eyes over Tony’s body, his chest still rising and falling, hard and fast. And Tony felt a sudden thrill of excitement, a rush of gratification, even smugness-

Tony _believed_ him.

He could hear the need and desperation in Steve’s voice, he could see the way Steve’s whole body responded to him. He knew Steve wanted him. He _felt_ it.

“Oh God Steve, that was incredible, you are incredible…” Tony babbled, barely aware he was doing it – using most of his focus to try and push himself up, even though his arms were still trembling. And then Steve dropped down to kiss him again, hard and deep and possessive, gripping Tony by the waist. Tony felt another low ache, another jagged spike of desire even as his body struggled to recover.

He still wanted Steve, he wanted _all_ of him, he wanted-

“Fuck me Steve, please,” he whispered, hot against Steve’s lips. And he hadn’t even known he was going to say it, but now that it was out there-

Jesus Christ, Tony wanted that.

And he only wanted it more when he heard Steve groan softly, his fingertips digging harder into Tony’s skin.

“Oh God Tony are you sure?” He panted, barely leaving gaps between the words – _please Tony, say you’re sure._

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tony promised, “I am very, very, _very_ sure-” was cut off when Steve kissed him again, his hands already caressing roughly over Tony’s ribs.

Tony immediately went to unfasten Steve’s jeans, his movement blunt and clumsy. Then he curled his fingers over Steve’s waistband, jerking his pants and underwear down over his hips in one rough tug. Steve had to break the kiss so that he could shuffle his way free of his clothes, Tony grabbing at him the whole time. And then Tony let his hand stroke over Steve’s stomach, revelling in how smooth and warm and _perfect_ his skin was… and then curled his fingers around the length of Steve’s cock, and felt him, thick and full against his palm.

“Jesus Steve,” Tony gasped, as Steve jerked into his grip. Tony felt that painful throbbing ease into something more comfortable, and then compulsive, as he ran his hand over Steve. Feeling the weight of him, the _size_ of him-

“Tony are you sure you want this?” Steve pleaded.

“Yes, I want you, I want you inside me, please,” Tony assured him, already picturing it, his own cock hard against his stomach again.

“Fuck, Tony,” Steve growled, rocking his hips.

And it’s funny how the human mind works. What seemingly minor details it chooses to set aside. The way it can find them again when they actually matter.

Out of nowhere, Tony found himself glancing over at the little mobile work desk, currently set up _just_ within arms reach of the couch – knowing exactly what he was looking for. Exactly where he’d find it.

He didn’t know where he’d find anything _else_ in the workshop. The rest of the room was in a state of total chaos. His appointments with Bucky were always either Med Lab appointments or workshop appointments, and Tony had never bothered to tidy one if they were going to be spending all evening in the other. He’d had no reason to think anyone would be coming down here tonight, he’d made no effort to tidy away any of the debris from his latest project – he couldn’t even remember what his latest project was, right now.

But he absolutely knew, on that desk, in amongst all the meaningless clutter, there was a tube of silicone oil-

It was _meant_ to be used as an engineering lubricant, specifically designed for organic projects – but, fuck it, it could be two things.

“Here,” he gasped, as he lunged entirely gracelessly for the desk. Snatching the little tube up and pressing it firmly into Steve’s palm. Steve understood immediately, setting it aside deliberately. And then his grabbed at Tony’s shoulder, and his hip, and rolled Tony onto his stomach in one swift motion.

“Oh fuck-” Tony barked, cut short when he felt the friction of the couch pressed hard against his still-sensitive cock. And then he felt Steve’s hands pushed against the inside of his thighs, parting Tony’s legs, and Tony raced to surrender to it. He spread his legs, lifting his ass, already begging, “Jesus Steve I want you to fuck me, please fuck me, please-”

And he didn’t feel guilty or dirty or ashamed – just like he knew he wouldn’t, if Steve were ever really there.

He liked to think of Steve looking at him now, _wanting_ him now-

And then Steve ran his thumb over Tony’s hole, firm and determined and just a little bit rough, and sent burning pleasure shattering through the very core of him.

“Oh, fuck Steve, yes,” Tony moaned, letting his head fall forward as he tried to push back against Steve’s hand.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve whispered, letting his thumb roll over Tony’s rim, his other hand gripping Tony’ s hip hard enough to bruise. “So fucking beautiful. Breath-taking. Perfect.”

“ _Steve!_ ” Tony barked, like it was a swearword, or a prayer. And then there was the tight, searing heat of Steve’s finger, pushing inside him. “Oh, God-”

“It’s okay baby,” Steve whispered, taking his hand away. Tony cried out, bucking against nothing, but Steve just carried on soothing, “It’s okay, it’s okay baby.”

And, oh, Tony loved it when Steve called him that-

And then Steve’s fingertip, wet and slippery now, pressing against his hole again-

Pushing inside him.

“Oh, fuck more, please more,” Tony begged, even as that deep friction curled in him. Steve pulled back and pushed into him again, a sharp desperate pleasure that immediately consumed itself, twisting into an urgent need for _more_. “Please-”

Tony groaned, low in his chest, as Steve pushed a second finger into him - which then broke into a pleading whine, as Steve twisted his hand and pushed in deeper.

“Jesus Tony, you feel so good,” Steve muttered, like he was talking to himself. “Fuck, the sounds you make, the way you move-”

And then Steve fingertips brushed over that sweet spot, deep inside him. Tony felt his whole body contract around Steve’s hand, every sensation being dragged down to that one point.

“Oh-more-please-Steve-fuck-there-please” Tony blurted out, writhing against him, clawing at the couch. And then Steve pushed a third finger into him, working him open, deliberately seeking out that same spot again. “Fuck me, please fuck me, _please-_ ”

“Oh God, Tony,” Steve breathed, pulling his hand away from him – grabbing hold of Tony and throwing him onto his back again, before Tony could whine about the loss of contact.

And immediately Tony recognised the feeling of Steve positioning himself between his legs, the way Steve pushed at Tony’s thighs. Tony arched his back, letting his legs fall apart, one of his hands grasping at Steve’s hip, trying to urge him on.

And then he heard the slick, wet sound of skin on skin, and looked up to see Steve running his hand over his own cock.

Tony felt his balls tighten, his spine jarring straight.

_Oh God, he’s going to fuck me._

_Steve Rogers is going to fuck me._

And then Steve leant into him, and Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, trying to draw him closer.

And then Steve’s fingers, opening him up again, the little rivets of sensation sharper now, more urgent.

The hot, dull press of Steve’s cock against his hole.

The searing bite of Steve pushing past his rim, the slow, crawling heat of Steve filing him up.

Tony literally had to gasp for air, almost panicking at the intensity of this sensation. He could feel Steve all the way though the centre of his body, the pressure throbbing deep in his thighs, up through his back. The aching pleasure of it, _right_ at the edge of just-too-much.

“Jesus fuck,” Tony groaned, digging his nails into Steve’s hips.

“ _Tony…_ ” Steve’s voice was so dark, so unashamedly needy. Tony flinched at the sound of it, feeling every nerve light up as he felt Steve move inside him.

“Oh fuck, fuck”

“ _Shhh, it’s okay baby”_ Steve whispered, still an edge of urgency on his tone, even as he tried to soothe him – which was, without a doubt, the _hottest_ thing Tony had ever heard in his life. And then he stroked his hands over Tony’s chest, protective and possessive and _caring_ , leaning down to kiss him.

Tony threw his arms around Steve’s neck, moaning against his mouth, another wave of pleasure rolling though him as Steve rocked his hips. And then he let one hand run along Steve’s shoulder, and thought of the perfect, powerful body pressed against him, those pretty lips, kissing him right now, that beautiful cock, inside him, _fucking him_ -

And then Steve thrust into him, sharp and shallow, and then there were no thoughts in Tony’s head at all.

“Yes, God-” he cried, his head falling back, his whole body falling apart as the sensation crashed through him. And just as it burned itself out, tightening into that need for more, Steve pushed into him again – harder. Tony called out, trying for something like _more, again, please_ , and ending up with a nonsense of consonants.

“Oh fuck Tony you feel so good,” Steve growled, his restraint breaking down right before Tony’s eyes. Tony felt Steve’s hips stutter against him, so obviously trying to go slow, his brow creased in concentration, biting his bottom lip.

“ _Harder,_ ” Tony whispered, arcing up into him. “ _Please-”_

“ _Fuck,_ ” Steve hissed, jerking into him like it might’ve been involuntary. But then he just gave into it, thrusting his hips again, and again, quickly falling into a deep, brutal rhythm.

Tony cried out, somewhere between a scream and a sob, as the pleasure swamped over him, wave after wave. He locked his legs tighter around Steve, rocking up to meet him, his nails digging into Steve’s skin. Tony’s whole body surrendered to it, letting it pulse through every muscle, rolling all the way up to his shoulders.

He would’ve told Steve that he loved him, then.

It was just one of the thousands of words lost in the haze of his head, one of the things that had broken down into pleading moans and panting.

And then he felt Steve’s hands curling around his waist, gripping him harder, pulling Tony into him – hitting his prostate again. A sudden, jagged shock sliced through the thick, pulsing sensation Tony had been floating on, tugging him back into that state of immediate, focused need. And then again, and again, faster than Tony could process it. It ran away from him so quickly, curling hot and low inside him, almost painful-

And then Steve thrust into him again, and Tony just broke completely.

His entire body braced as his orgasm tore through him, at first just a blinding, overwhelming _relief_. It stripped every ounce of strength out of him, his entire body falling weak in Steve’s hands, a thousand little electric shivers running through his muscles as they relaxed-

A sharp twinge, all the way along his spine, as Steve jerked his hips again, his movement stuttering, his legs tensing against Tony’s thighs.

And then he heard Steve groan, from deep in his chest, low and feral and desperate-

_And, okay – that’s now the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life-_

And then Steve’s fingertips digging hard into his skin, as he buried himself into Tony, panting his name over and over as he came.

Tony was still trembling, his own climax still echoing through him, his limbs strangely distant and his mind completely blank.

A heavy fog seemed to close around him, his vision darkening, the whole world falling away from him…

He might’ve passed out, for just a second.

And then he felt the slow drag of Steve pulling out of him, the cold absence he left against his skin. Tony forced his eyes open, blinking his way through the floating purple shadows. He gazed up at Steve, watching the muscle ripple up along his torso, his skin flushed and sheened with sweat. And the way he was looking at Tony, adoring and overwhelmed and… _happy_.

He was especially beautiful, like that.

“Steve,” Tony whispered – or tried to. And then Steve smiled, and gathered Tony up against his chest, so that he could lie down on the couch with Tony cradled against him. Tony melted against him immediately, feeling as though he could carry on falling into him, like he could drown in the warmth of Steve’s skin.

He could feel his own heart pounding in his ears.

His chest was still heaving in a desperate attempt to draw enough air into his lungs, his head was still swimming.

And it didn’t even occur to him that soon enough he’d catch his breath, and then just stop breathing. That eventually his heartbeat would slow right down to nothing. In that moment, Tony just felt alive, exactly the same as he did, back when he was.

And all he knew was that everything felt good.

*

Steve had fallen outside of reality altogether.

Which was fine.

As it turned out, anxiety and doubt and fears for the future were all just inventions of the reality he’d left behind. Time itself seemed to no longer apply. Steve had no idea how long it had been since Tony drifted into sleep, right there in his arms. How long Steve had been lying here, staring at that beautiful face, tracing gentle touches over Tony’s back. How many times he’d buried his head into Tony’s hair, and just breathed him in.

Steve was so perfectly contented, so deeply and completely comfortable. His mind was calm, and mostly quiet – except for the occasional happy observation that he allowed to just drift through.

That Tony’s lips were impossibly lovely, especially when he was sleeping.

That Tony had such beautiful hands. Such talented hands.

How nice it was, to feel the weight of someone sleeping next to him.

How different it was, kissing someone you were actually in love with…

And then, at last, it occurred to him… He didn’t know when he’d slipped into thinking that.

He knew that he _was_ in love with Tony… Obviously. Steve understood that completely. He felt like he'd understood that for a while now…

But he didn’t know when exactly he’d worked it out, or even how long it had been true for.

He found himself thinking back to the first time he saw Tony, telling himself that clearly, he couldn’t have been in love with him _then_ … But it was so hard to think back to that moment and not love him. Everything Steve remembered about him was through this filter, every little detail came with context that he couldn’t have known at the time – but couldn’t unknow, now.

He remembered a moment, way back at the beginning, when he’d first accepted that he _liked_ Tony… Was it then? Was there a moment later on when it became something else, a reason he had to think that word for the first time… When _was_ the first time he’d thought it?

Steve felt like he should know that. Like it should have been an event, when it happened. Like he should really have thought about this before now. But it had been so easy to fall in love with Tony, that he’d never stopped to panic about the fact that he’d fallen in love at all.

…Oh God, he’d fallen in love.

And suddenly, Steve remembered that meant something, back in the reality he came from. That it was ‘a thing’.

That, actually, everything might be a bit different to how he’d thought it was… a bit more complicated…

Steve had never thought about where things could go with Tony. He’d always stopped himself from thinking altogether, when that question threatened to occur to him – because he just knew he wouldn’t like the answer. That was the basic assumption he’d been operating under all this time. That it was going to hurt like hell to give Tony up, but that obviously he’d have to… That he’d just have to deal with that loss when it happened. That there was no point dwelling on it now.

But what if he _couldn’t_ deal with that loss when it happened? What if it was going to be more than just painful as hell?

…It would be losing the love of his life. That _was_ just different.

Without even realising it, Steve had come crashing back to the real world. He’d remembered that there was such a thing as consequences, that there was such a thing as the future – that there were in fact a thousand potential futures, and he did care which one he ended up in, and it was up to him to do something about it-

That he _might_ be able to do something about it.

…Which actually made him panic more.

It was like he’d spent the last few months trying to brace for a crash, trying not to think about the inevitable destruction – only to realise at the last moment that he was actually the one driving the truck.

The sudden shift in his perception, the immediate burden of responsibility, the overwhelming self-recrimination as he recognised how wrong he’d gotten it so far… The fresh realisation of how very much he wanted this thing, now that there was the slightest chance that he could have it.

It was terrifying.

Steve had constructed all his thoughts and all his actions around those few basic truths. That he would have to walk away from Tony. That, somehow, he’d have to be okay afterwards. That this whole thing was all in _his_ head – that it was only his own heartbreak he had to worry about. And that had always felt like a cold, crushing sadness. A constant, dull ache that he’d simply tried to ignore…

But the thought that, if he’d just kissed Tony weeks ago, Tony might’ve kissed him back-

The idea that he’d been cluelessly watching this chance slip by him, all this time-

The thought that maybe, just maybe, Tony might feel _something_ for him… or even that he could, one day, if Steve got it right…

He didn’t want to say it was _worse_ than the hopelessness… But it was definitely more intense. A stab of white-hot panic as he raced to sort through all this new information-

Trying to work out how Tony felt about him, trying to unlearn everything he thought he knew yesterday.

Trying to picture what a life with Tony could be like, trying to include everything he’d just found out and set aside everything he’d wrongly assumed.

Trying to work out some way to keep Tony, trying to think of the right things to say… with a horrible feeling that he’d already gone past that point. That there were a thousand times he would have said something else, if he’d only known. That he’d already missed a hundred opportunities to help Tony, to show Tony that he cared… to make Tony like him.

Oh, God – he had no idea if Tony liked him.

As of yesterday, Steve had been so sure that Tony had come to like him as a friend. And he’d _tried_ to just be happy with that… Pathetically nursing those seemingly meaningless, purely personal little victories, _I know it doesn’t matter, but I like that I made him smile today…_ So confident that was all he could have, accepting so completely that these were the rules and priorities of life…

And now he didn’t know if he’d misread everything Tony had ever said to him – after all, it had never occurred to Steve that Tony wanted him. Up until last week, Steve had never ever considered whether there was something different about Tony, much less that he was a vampire. Steve had picked up on some hint of loneliness, he’d caught glimpses of some hidden trauma… but he’d had no clue it was something on that scale… Did that mean he’d gotten it all wrong?

Did Tony really want _him_ tonight, or did he just want _this_?

Was Steve just an attractive stranger that Tony liked well enough, or was it more than that?

Oh…Had Tony really wanted any of this tonight…? Would he have done any of that, if he hadn’t been so emotional and exhausted and overwhelmed to finally say it all out loud…

Oh God – had Steve just taken advantage of him?

“Sir? I have an update on Sergeant Barnes’ condition.” JARVIS announced coolly, jarring Steve out of his train of thought.

And Tony opened his eyes, briefly dazed, his face still soft and sleepy when he mumbled,

“What’s that? What happened?”

And Steve felt his chest clench, suddenly overcome by such a pure and painful affection for him-

_I can’t lose you._

_I can’t leave you here alone._

_I just can’t._

“Sergeant Barnes’ baseline readings suggest he is in the process of waking up,” JARVIS explained. “I would estimate that he will be fully conscious within the hour.”

“Right, yeah, okay,” Tony answered, running a ran through his hair. “Thank you.”

And then Steve literally held his breath, waiting for Tony to look up at him.

But he didn’t.

He dropped his head, his body tensing against Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, when he couldn’t bare the pressure any longer.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tony answered, his voice unnaturally light… Steve felt an immediate pang of alarm.

“Tony?” He pressed, swallowing down a bitter taste. And then, at last, Tony glanced up at him… and there was just something about his face. A slight shadow under his eyes, a softness in his skin… something…

“I’m okay,” Tony replied, uncomfortably. Trying to smile and not quite managing it. “Just a little breathless, is all.”

“Breathless?” Steve frowned, frantically searching through all that new information he’d had thrown at him, a few hours earlier. All those facts he’d not catalogued or processed yet… “Is that… meant to happen?”

Tony cringed, and glanced away again. And Steve heard a little voice hiss at him, like an embarrassed elder sibling, _be careful what you’re just blurting out! He’s uncomfortable about this, remember?_

“Uh, well, like I say, I don’t have to breathe at all… As long as I drink blood. But I didn’t, tonight. I… got distracted.” Tony muttered, aiming for light-hearted and simply ending up awkward.

And Steve had the all too familiar feeling of not know what to panic about first.

He really didn’t want to say the wrong thing about Tony being a vampire – which was actually far more challenging now that he _did_ have time to think about it. He knew he’d found some words tonight, that he’d really felt every one of them… that they’d seemed like the right words, at least at the time. But now he was second guessing himself. All too aware of all the potential pitfalls and misinterpretations of everything he might say. And maybe, if Tony was still upset or Steve was still _reacting_ , he’d have just said them anyway, and maybe they’d have been right. But it was so much harder to force the words over that frantic self-doubt.

And he _really_ didn’t want to say the wrong things about what had happened between them. He was increasingly aware of how long had passed, with neither of them saying anything… increasingly concerned about _why_ Tony wasn’t mentioning it, why he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eye… And Steve could think of all sorts of things that he _wanted_ to say – that he loved Tony, that he was happy it had happened, that it was incredible, that he wanted it to happen again. But there was this deep resistance to actually saying any of it, all of a sudden. A fear of ruining everything, upsetting Tony… making an ass of himself.

And, on top of all that, there was the growing recognition of just how worried he was about Tony. All the things he’d heard for the first time last night, that just seemed to get worse and worse, the longer they had to settle in his head. All the things he didn’t know… all the new concerns that had started to occur to him-

He hadn’t realised that Tony had to drink every day. That there would be such a visible impact to being a few hours late.

And now Steve was worried that Tony might be seriously ill right now – but he couldn’t find the right way to ask him.

He was desperate to tell Tony to go and drink, to take better care of himself… But he felt sure that would upset Tony, and anyway, he didn’t know the first thing about this, to be giving advice.

“Is that… bad?” Steve asked, nervously. Giving into the biggest fear first. Tony shook his head self consciously.

“Not really. It’ll be fine. I’ll… fix it later.”

_Oh. He doesn’t want to drink in front of me._

_He doesn’t want me to see._

_I have to get out of the way. Now._

…Oh, but he didn’t know how to leave it.

He couldn’t just walk away without saying _something_ about what had happened-

He still couldn’t think of the right thing to say-

_Jesus Christ Steve, he might literally be dying here._

“Well, I can go and wait with Bucky,” he suggested, reluctantly. “If you want to… fix it now, I mean.”

“Um, okay, sure,” Tony nodded. “Someone should probably get up there, anyway…” And then Tony rolled over him, to reach for his clothes… and really, it was just the feeling of Tony’s skin on his again. A physical jolt, that pushed Steve into blurting out,

“I meant it.”

Tony froze, mid reach.

“Everything I said, before…” Steve clarified, increasingly anxious. “And… I don’t know, what you want to happen now…”

And Tony huffed, what might’ve been a laugh.

“It’s not what I _want_ to happen…” he breathed, like he might’ve been talking to himself. And then he picked his clothes up, hiding in the motion as he carried on talking. “I meant all of it too. I mean, I don’t actually know exactly what I said… But I know I meant it. And it was good, if that’s what you’re asking. I am happy it happened.”

“…But?” Steve prompted. Wishing it hadn’t sounded so needy…

“Honestly… I’ve never given a single thought to being in this situation. Because I just knew I never would be,” Tony explained, sitting up so that he could slip his shirt over his shoulders. “And I have a lifetime’s worth of reasons to… think about, I guess. All the reasons I can’t have what I want… which were all the reasons this would never happen… so, now I just… don’t know.”

And then he made himself look at Steve again. His eyes soft, and full of some hard-to-place emotion that was somehow reassuring.

“I meant everything I said, Steve,” he assured. “It’s just the other stuff. The things that make the stuff I did say… more complicated, in real life…”

And… okay.

Steve would’ve preferred it if Tony had said that he loved him, or said that he wanted it to happen again, or even that he’d like to keep seeing Steve, just see how it went.

But…

It wasn’t a no.

And somehow it didn’t feel personal… In the moment, it just seemed like Tony was more unsure of the circumstances than he was about Steve, per se.

And Steve could understand that.

He _wanted_ to understand that – he certainly didn’t want to pressure Tony, or make this all about himself, while Tony had so much personal stuff to work through. Steve wanted to help with that, not be an additional burden.

And he _really_ wanted Tony to be able to drink.

So… Okay.

This was… okay.

“I understand,” Steve smiled. Hoping he didn’t sound as Dr Phil as he thought he did. “Maybe we should talk about this later. When you’ve had some time to think, I mean.” And Tony smiled – the first smile that had seemed genuine since he woke up – and nodded.

“Okay, I’m going to shut up and stop distracting you,” Steve mocked himself, reaching for his t-shirt. Hurrying to get dressed now, thinking only of how he was stopping Tony from making himself well again.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to… _expire_ on you, or anything,” Tony told him, his tone a little warmer now. Almost teasing. Steve felt his cheeks warm, simply because Tony had guessed what he was thinking – and carried on dressing at the same pace.

But there was that nagging little anxiety that Tony’s comment had just roused.

That question that had been going around his head for the last few minutes.

And now that Tony had kind of brought it up…

Honestly, it was just that Steve really wanted to know. Eventually, his temptation outweighed his fear of saying the wrong thing, and it just fell out of his mouth,

“How long… How often do you have to…”

Tony glanced back at him.

“Depends,” he answered, reasonably enough. “Some batches are… I don’t know, more nutritious? Depends on what blood it is, and how healthy the donors are – and how much of it I can bring myself to drink, at the time. I mean, some of it’s just _vile_ , so I drink like half a mug of it and wonder why I feel weak again by lunchtime…” And then he seemed to catch himself, like he was scared he’d just said something awful, and rushed to finish, “but I’d get at least a couple of days, before I was in real trouble. Even on the worst of the crap I drink.”

“Why is what you drink so bad?” Steve frowned, before he could think to stop himself. A defensive impulse, really. An immediate sense of injustice that Tony should settle for anything less than the best, an instinct to right that for him.

“Because… You know, we actually have a blood donor shortage in this country. A lot of places do. There aren’t enough people who donate blood anyway, and then a lot of _that_ isn’t healthy enough to actually be useful… and, I don’t know, when you don’t have enough blood to help all the kids with cancer, and then some shady billionaire calls and says actually he wants to _drink_ it… It just seemed a bit cartoon supervillain to me. Like something Mr Burns would do.”

“So… where does yours come from?”

“Animals, mostly. Some of which make better donors than others – some of it _tastes_ better than others… And some human blood. Mostly stuff that the blood banks can’t use, because it failed basic screening – but I can’t catch anything,” his tone changed sharply into desperate assurance when he added that. “That’s why I take it, because I can’t get physically catch any blood-based illnesses. So, I can’t pass them on, either-”

“Oh, me neither,” Steve reassured him, when he finally worked out what Tony was talking about. “It’s a serum thing…”

“Oh, right. Well, just so you know, I wouldn’t have… put you at any risk, or-”

“Tony, I know,” Steve told him, firmly. “Really, I was never worried about that…”

Actually, at the moment, he was mostly worrying about the revelation that – on top of everything else – Tony was trying to survive on a basic ration of diseased blood-

“And it’s fine,” Tony forced the conversation forward, glancing away again. “I mean, it gets the job done. I’m not going to starve to death on it…”

Which Tony probably hadn’t intended to be a hint, but was enough for Steve to prompt himself,

“Well, not unless I stop you actually drinking it, forever…” he joked, weakly, awkwardly making for the elevator. “I’ll, uh, see you upstairs?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.” Tony nodded, brusquely, already heading over to the little kitchenette area in the corner of the workshop.

_I love you, you know._

But Steve didn’t say it.

He just took a deep breath, and stepped into the elevator.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, apologies for the delay in this update - I work in a care facility for people with dementia, and as you may imagine, things have been a little busy of late! Also, I expect to be picking up a lot of over time in the immediate future, so apologies if I'm a little slower in answering your comments and messages, and if future updates are a few days late - but the fic *is* mostly written, so I can promise they will go up with no considerable delay. It's just the edits that I have to find time for - but, honestly, its my escape right now, so rest assured that it's happily being worked on!  
> Anyway, really hope you like it!

Tony had calmly decided that he was probably in shock.

He’d been sitting on the couch in his workshop, staring into the middle distance, for maybe five hours now. Ever since that dream-like exchange when he’d said goodbye to Steve and Bucky at the elevator, with a smile that felt strange on his face… Tony didn’t even know what he’d come back to the workshop for. He’d just sort of drifted here in a trance, and sat down, and…

He wasn’t really sure _what_ he’d been thinking, all morning.

There had been thoughts. He knew that. Oddly distant, surprisingly unemotional thoughts… observations that occurred to him, simply and entirely at random.

_You can never have an actual relationship, though._

_You don’t age, you can never have children, you can’t even go outside during the day._

_You’d still be at so much risk if anyone else found out about you – and so would Pepper and Rhodey. And Steve and Bucky, if you don’t put a stop to this._

_What Obie did to you was so cruel, and you’ve not thought about that in so long, and when that hits you again-_

_You can’t really be a part of the world-_

_There are more problems than the ones Steve fixed last night_

And, alongside those should-be-devastating revelations, there were the should-be-ecstatic insights,

_Steve did want you though, you know that part was true._

_Steve is just as furious about what Obie did as you are. He gets it._

_All those things you thought you could never have-_

_Steve did fix some things last night._

_Something_ _is better._

And the questions. Just questions, that drifted through his head without context or reaction or any attempt to find an answer,

_Did I really want to bite Steve?_

_Does that mean Obie was right?_

_Does Steve actually like me?_

_Did I tell him I loved him?_

_Did I already tell him this was over?_

_Does it have to be over…?_

And all of that was just sounds in his head. Isolated sentences that drifted through his mind like clouds across a summer sky. Purely decorative elements, with no power to shape or define the mood he was in. He noted some of them, and ignored others, and felt nothing specific about anything-

Except.

Except that, occasionally, and with no warning what-so-ever, Tony would remember some little detail about the night before.

The feeling of Steve’s chest pressed up against him, the dizzying safety and surrender of being held in that embrace.

The look that flashed up in Steve’s eyes when Tony clawed at his back.

The sound of Steve made when he came-

Those memories weren’t just words in Tony’s head. Those images had a sound, and a taste… they _felt_ of something. He didn’t know what to call that feeling… Like everything, it just sort of washed over him, without any analysis… But unlike everything else, those memories got a reaction. They made his skin pleasantly warm. They made him smile, and unconsciously put his arms around himself. He could fall into those memories, for endless minutes at a time, before he snapped himself out of it and back into… nothing at all, really.

At least once, it occurred to him that daydreaming about Steve sucking his cock was probably an inappropriate response. That he should probably be more anxious about those memories, that there should be other things that he was thinking about instead…

Just that thought, _this is probably inappropriate_ … and then nothing.

Until he heard the elevator stir into life.

“JARVIS?” He demanded, his system suddenly flooded with adrenaline, his eyes locked on the elevator door as he jumped to his feet. _There is someone in my house-_

“Colonel Rhodes, sir…?” JARVIS explained, sounding slightly concerned.

“Did you tell me he was here?”

“…You just said to let him in, sir.” JARVIS confirmed, in the same hesitant tone.

“…Did I?” Tony asked, baffled. Trying to work out if he _did_ have a vague memory of that, actually… or if he was just imagining it now-

But Rhodey stepped into the workshop before Tony could finish the thought – and immediately paused in alarm.

“Woah. You okay?” He asked, looking Tony up and down. And Tony finally realised that he was still in battle stance, and dropped his shoulders.

“Yeah, sorry, you surprised me,” he muttered, shaking his head. Trying to bring himself back into the real world, trying to remember _how_ to think…

“I surprised you?” Rhodey repeated, narrowing his eyes. When Tony just shrugged at him, he was forced to guess, “you been up all night?”

And Tony felt that stupid grin break out on his face, without warning and completely of its own accord. He turned away in a pointless attempt to hide it.

“Uh, no, not _all_ night…” he answered, softly.

“Okay, you know you’re acting weird, right?” Rhodey sighed, taking a step closer. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

And… Wow. How to begin with that one.

Tony found himself trying to pull those aimless observations together, put them into some sort of order – actually thinking about them for the first time.

_Well, I told someone about me being a vampire-_

_Well, I slept with Steve last night-_

_I’m actually wondering if I’ve had this whole vampire thing wrong for last twenty years-_

_I’m starting to wonder if Obie was right about some stuff-_

Ah. There was the anxiety he might’ve expected earlier. A sudden realisation of how huge this all was – how ridiculous it was that he’d just been sitting here in a haze for hours, oblivious to the whole world burning.

“So… Lots of things happened last night…” Tony heard himself saying, most of his attention still focused on the inside of his own head. “And… Now I’m not sure if everything just changed… or if, maybe everything is exactly like I thought it was, really, and all that’s happened is that I’ve just fucked everything up…”

“Okay-”

“…Or if maybe everything is like I thought it was, and that’s okay, and it’s just kind of… nice it happened…? I mean, maybe it’s all just the same shit, and this is just a thing that happened” Tony just carried on, talking to himself now. Trying to work out the shape of this thing. “Until what happens afterwards… but maybe that was always going to be awful, and maybe it’s actually less awful now. _Or,_ maybe it’s more awful, losing him now… But maybe that’s just the price, and maybe that was worth it – until that’s not the whole price, and I’m actually just going to keep paying for this-”

“Tony-”

“Or, I don’t know if maybe things _are_ worse now – or if things have always been so much worse than I thought they were… If Obie was always right about that stuff and I was just lying to myself, or if I really was better not thinking about any of it at _all-”_

“ _Tony,_ ” Rhodey interrupted far more forcefully, pulling Tony out of his spiral. And then Tony watched Rhodey’s face soften into something more sympathetic. Rhodey swallowed whatever he was about to say, a different kind of concern creasing his brow… planning how to handle this. “Okay, _what_ actually happened?” He tried, in the calm, serious voice of a police officer at a crime scene.

And, of all the answers Tony could’ve come out with, he found himself saying,

“I… think the guy I’m in love with might actually have a crush on me. And I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or just a thing.”

And then he saw Rhodey’s double take, and recognised that had been a really random place to begin.

Tony screwed his face up, and shook his head, thinking he’d just start over-

“What guy you’re in love with?” Rhodey demanded, clearly getting carried away. “What, Steve?” And then he saw Tony flinch, and caught himself.

“I…uh, really haven’t been keeping you up to date with this whole thing, have I?” Tony remembered aloud. And he could see that Rhodey wanted to tell him, _no, you really haven’t._ Rhodey had probably come here planning to gently tease Tony over how elusive he’d been for the last few weeks, hoping to needle some actual details out of him…

“Do you want to sit down?” He said instead, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll make coffee.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile at that. How well Rhodey knew him…

He sank back down into the dent he’d made on the couch, while Rhodey picked his way through the debris littering the workshop.

Suddenly it occurred to Tony that he _was_ tired. That there was still a dull ache in the small of his back, and the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes… And then he felt that little twinge in his stomach.

He grimaced distastefully, as he thought back to the blood he drank just a few hours ago. A particularly bad batch, even by his minimal standards – watery and gritty and of hardly any use. And Tony knew that meant he should actually drink _more_ of it, but the very thought-

_So I drink like half a mug of it and wonder why I feel weak again by lunchtime…_

See, what did that make him smile? Just because he’d said it to Steve?

…That was a horrible thing to have said to Steve. He should feel terrible about so many of the things he said to Steve-

“Here,” Rhodey pushed a coffee mug into his hands, and flopped down onto the other end of the couch. “Tell you what, why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

“Remind me again where I left you?” Tony huffed, self-consciously.

“Last time we talked, you were trying to ‘weasel out of’ ever seeing him again,” Rhodey summarised, in a pointedly neutral tone. “And you weren’t sure you even liked him – but you did think he was hot. And then I went on the Iraq trip, and texted you at least once a week to ask how it was going – and all you ever said was that Bucky’s arm was getting better.”

“Hm,” Tony nodded. “Yeah, well, you know what I was worried about back then… Just, in general… But yeah, since then I… Kinda fell in love with him.”

Rhodey did a better job of masking his reaction that time. Just about.

“And I know that’s probably just because I’m a pathetic recluse, and any shrink would warn you I was likely to fixate…” Tony carried on, his voice coming to him a little more comfortably. “Or, I don’t know, maybe it _was_ just the nicest guy on earth that happened to walk in… But, whatever. At some point in the last few weeks I just started feeling differently about him. And that was… I don’t know. Probably going to be a problem anyway. I mean, even before last night, I was already thinking it was going to be hard to get over all this…”

And it occurred to him, that one issue would be enough to fill a hundred evenings of anxious self-analysis. He could talk to Rhodey for hours, just about the fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love. That was without everything else-

“So… What happened last night?” Rhodey asked in that same diplomatic tone.

“Well, he and Bucky came over, because Bucky was getting some pains in his arm… It wasn’t even a scheduled appointment,” Tony noted – like that mattered. “And during the procedure something went wrong, and I ended up taking a blow to the face.”

“Are you okay?” Rhodey clarified.

“Yeah, of course I am – even though no one else would be, if that happened.” Tony explained, and watched the realisation flash up in Rhodey’s eyes.

“So, he guessed you’re a vampire?”

“No, it’s worse than that,” Tony laughed, joylessly. “No, in my panic to fix the mess with Bucky, I opened all the med lab cabinets and told Steve to go looking for a bio-tech kit. I basically invited him to view my blood exhibition…” And Tony shuddered, remembering all the reasons his entire existence was creepy-

And there was that internal conflict again.

After all those years of hating himself, it had become a habit. The curling in his gut was automatic, the instinct to flinch away from himself was as fundamental as the impulse to blink. All those thoughts still jumped into his head, fully formed and word perfect after twenty years of constant drilling-

_Anyone would be horrified, if they knew what you were_

_If Steve saw what you have to do to survive, he’d run a mile_

_If anyone finds out you’re a vampire, the world will end._

And yet.

Now he knew that at least some of his most fundamental assumptions were flawed. He had seen it happen, he _did_ understand it – he even felt changed by it, somehow.

It just hadn’t stopped him feeling all the other things. The things that had been directly disproved… but he was still so sure must be true. They’d _always_ been true.

The things that had undeniably happened didn’t fit with the world as Tony had always known it to be. The disgust he’d always felt didn’t work alongside this happy enlightenment he really _did_ feel as well. These reactions couldn’t exist at the same time. Logically, they were incompatible.

…And yet.

“…How bad was it?” Rhodey guessed, gingerly.

“It was… wonderful. I think,” Tony sighed. He noted Rhodey’s truly heroic – but ultimately unsuccessful – attempt to keep his excitement from flashing up on his face. Tony made a point of carrying on before he could say anything. “At the time, at least. Because, for a start, he didn’t freak out. About the blood, or about me being a vampire, or… any of it. And that would’ve been a pretty big thing, I think. And I think that part’s just good… I mean, maybe it’d mean rethinking some stuff around the edges… but if it was just that, I don’t know if I’d have to rethink my whole approach to life. I think that would’ve just been nice, and maybe kind of better…”

“But?” Rhodey prompted.

“Well, _also_ … it was the other stuff he said,” Tony went on, more cautiously. Not confident the words were going to be there when he got to the end of the sentence. “I don’t really know how it happened… But suddenly, we’re talking about all this _other_ stuff… suddenly _I’m_ talking about all this other stuff…”

“Like?”

“…Like the night Obie bit me,” came out as a whisper. Tony dropped his eyes before he could see Rhodey’s reaction – but he heard the sudden intake of breath.

“Wow.”

“And… it’s not just that he didn’t freak out about that either. It’s the way he saw it, and the other things he said – and the fact that I know he really, _really_ wanted to kill Obie, when I told him,” and Tony glanced up in time to see Rhodey give a stoic little nod of solidarity. “And… it’s all so big, it’s like it won’t fit in my head. I keep thinking about all these things I… _know,_ now? But it’s like I don’t know them, like I keep forgetting to take them into account, or I don’t know how to… slot them in. I don’t know how to make sense of any of it… and that’s making me feel like I don’t really understand anything…”

At last, Rhodey allowed himself to smile – or he couldn’t contain it anymore. Either way.

“Look, Tony…” He began, softly, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. “I’ve never thought it’d be easy for you, whatever way you did things. I know that you’re gonna have to shoulder a lot in this world, whatever happens – and I _am_ sorry for that,” he met Tony’s eye and waited for Tony to smile a little acknowledgement. “And I know it’d be hard for your to change your life now, and I know there’s not an easy life for you to change it to – I think you think I don’t get that, but I do. I just… I always thought there were better ways for you to live. It’s not like I haven’t been saying this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony muttered, a prickle of resistance running up the back of his neck. Another remembered behaviour, probably. His ‘usual’ response to Rhodey’s endless attempts to help him.

…Did this mean he had to rethink that reaction, too?

This whole exchange with Rhodey, for the last twenty years?

His whole relationship with Rhodey, in a way… and Pepper…

His answer to everything.

…Did this mean _Rhodey_ had actually been right, all this time-

“But you _don’t_ know, that’s the thing,” Rhodey corrected, gently. “And that’s what’s bothering you right now – it’s that scary, painful feeling when you realise you don’t know. Having to think about your life… maybe even changing it. I’m not saying that’s _not_ tough… but is it a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, with a shrug.

“Doesn’t _sound_ like anything bad happened,” Rhodey smiled. “Honestly, it sounds like you met someone special, and you actually let them be special, for once. And if this guy made you feel good about yourself – if it’s maybe making you question even… some of this,” and he gestured to the workshop, as a shorthand for Tony’s grim and lonely life, “then yeah, I think that’s a good thing. Stressful, maybe. Simple? Not likely. And maybe it doesn’t change _everything_ , or fix everything… But, honestly man, I always thought you should talk about… that night. I always thought you could interact _more_ with the world. I always thought there would be people who were okay with the vampire thing. You know I did. And even if it only makes you rethink that much… Seriously, I think it’d be worth the sleepless night.”

“Maybe, if it had _only_ made me rethink those things….” Tony sighed. “Or, I don’t know… Forever, I’ve had it down, you know? Obie did a horrible thing, and made me into a horrible thing, because he wanted to control me. And I can’t change what he did, or help the horrible thing I am – but I can make sure I never become the thing he said I’d be. And everything he said about it was a lie – I _told_ myself that… all that stuff about natural blood lust and coming of age and – it was all lies. I didn’t even have to think about what they were, I just knew that. And _now_ … Now I’m thinking about it again. Well, no,” he correctly himself sharply. “Now I’m worried that I _will_ start thinking about it again, when my brain starts working. All those memories are in there now, just waiting for me to start picking them to pieces…”

“Tony, do you really think there’s _any_ chance Obie was telling the truth about that whole bloodlust thing?”

“I don’t know,” Tony whispered, looking away again.

“You really think that one day you’ll ‘attain an innate understanding of who is ready to die’, or experience a ‘moment of physical joy’ when you kill someone?” Rhodey pressed on, gently. And Tony felt his teeth clench, just at the rhythm of the words… It had been so long since he thought about the specific phrases Obie had used.

“I don’t know,” Tony hissed, “I just… if _any_ part of what I know could be wrong-”

“That doesn’t mean it is,” Rhodey assured, warmly. “And I know it’s hard to think about what Obie said, and I get that it’s going to be really hard to ask yourself if it’s true – but I absolutely know that you’re going to get to the end of it and realise it wasn’t. I know, if you really thought about it, you’d _still_ be sure that Obie was talking out of his ass about all that. Because I know you, and _I_ know you’re never going to be able to sit there and watch someone die.”

Which Tony did find immediately comforting, actually. The instant recognition that, even if he’d thought about biting Steve, he’d never want to _hurt_ him – that, obviously, he couldn’t bear to watch Steve die. The reassuring certainty that he couldn’t stand there and watch _anyone_ die…

_…not yet you couldn’t._

_But you were so sure you’d never want to bite someone, once._

_What if this is how it starts?_

_…What if one day you do just want to hurt him-_

“And if you _did_ think about everything Obie said,” Rhodey went on, optimistically, “however much it hurt, at least at the end you’d _know_ he was wrong. And that’s gotta be better than having to keep telling yourself he was? And… maybe, as well as all the stuff you’d know you were right about… Maybe there _would_ be some stuff you got to change your mind over. Like just believing that he made you into something horrible…”

“And if I think about all that and decide I was right, and I am something horrible,” Tony bit out, over a growing sense of frustration. “What if I’m stuck with really _knowing_ that, rather than just accepting it?”

“Well, I guess that’s the gamble I’m taking, pushing this idea on you,” Rhodey conceded. “But I gotta tell you, I think the odds are in my favour here.”

Tony tried to smile at that… But he’d just recognised the source of this irritation. The struggle to explain his fears to Rhodey, to get Rhodey to take them seriously-

Without admitting he’d wanted to bite Steve.

And he couldn’t tell Rhodey _that_. Tony couldn’t even bring himself to wonder what Rhodey’s reaction would be. He couldn’t bear to picture Rhodey’s face, or guess what thoughts might run though his head… Tony couldn’t stand the idea of crushing Rhodey’s faith in him like that.

So, instead, Tony just blurted it out,

“I had sex with him.”

“Wait, _what_? When?” Rhodey exclaimed, his careful tone immediately overwhelmed. “What, last night?”

_Then_ Tony smiled. Simply at how honest a reaction it was, how human. He thought he preferred it to the measured responses of before.

“After we had the big talk,” Tony replied, a little sheepishly. “I just decided it would be a good idea to kiss him – which makes _no_ sense, by the way, because I really thought when I did it that he wasn’t going to kiss me back. And, I mean, who kisses someone already thinking they aren’t going to kiss you back-”

“But he did kiss you back?” Rhodey cut in, suddenly sounding like an excited high schooler.

“…Yeah,” Tony nodded, biting back that same silly grin.

“And, wait, ‘you don’t know if that’s a bad thing or just a thing’?” Rhodey remembered. “That’s what you meant when you said you _think_ he has a crush on you – because he actually had sex with you?”

“Well, no – just cos someone fucks you, doesn’t mean they like you,” Tony corrected him. He heard Rhodey huff out an exasperated little breath, and went on “ _but_ … I don’t know, thinking about what _actually_ happened… maybe he does…”

“You think?” Rhodey groaned, without malice. And then he snapped up to meet Tony’s gaze, and added, “and how the hell have you turned that into a _bad_ thing?”

“Because…” Tony started, wearily.

_Because I want to bite his neck_.

“Because in seventy years’ time, I’ll still look like this – and he’ll be dying,” he sighed, bitterly. “And he’ll have to look back on all those wasted years, when he could’ve been meeting someone he _could_ grow old with, or have a family with, or go to the beach with… years he’ll have spent cooped up inside with me, and this weird ass life.”

The childish excitement melted away from Rhodey’s face as Tony spoke, settling into an expression of such genuine sympathy… It cooled some of Tony’s frustration, and made his ribs feel uncomfortably tight.

“Which is why falling in love with him in the first place was such a bad move,” Tony went on. “I mean, if I’d just _liked_ him, or thought he was hot, I wouldn’t be thinking about seventy years from now. Maybe I could trick myself into thinking I could just have a bit of fun with him… But I know walking away is going to kill me, and it’s only going to hurt worse the more time I spend with him. And it’ll cost _him_ more, the longer I let it go on. And how can I let it go on, knowing it can’t go anywhere? Knowing it can only hurt him… And _that’s_ why I’m thinking maybe it’s actually worse if he likes me.”

“How is that worse?” Rhodey asked – back to the gentle voice again.

“Because knowing I can’t have him is hard enough,” Tony confessed. “I don’t want to have to make that case to _him_. I don’t want to have to tell him no… I don’t know if I trust myself to tell him no, which really means I don’t trust myself not to hurt him. And if he just got caught in the moment, or if he just thought it would be fun or just thought I was hot, or whatever… Then hey, maybe that could’ve just been a thing that happened. And maybe it could just have been… good at the time, and maybe that’d be something, however much it hurt afterwards. But if he wants to keep doing this… If he somehow thinks that we could just get to know each other better, or there’s somewhere to ‘see where it goes’… That just makes the whole thing even more complicated. And… dangerous.”

“So, you’d rather he _didn’t_ like you?”

“… I know that would be better.” Tony answered, very carefully.

And then he let his head fall into his hands, and rubbed his eyes – only then realising how sore they were. His stomach twinged again, his tongue already coated in bile at the thought of drinking… He was tired, and achy, and worn down.

But, at the same time, he was still slightly giddy, and lighter somehow…

_Something_ was better.

“So, in conclusion,” Tony announced, theatrically. “Since you went on your last trip, I have fallen in love with a man I can never have, had sex with him knowing full well it can’t go anywhere, and I’m already doubting my ability to not lead him on. And I broke all the rules I’ve had for the last twenty years, and now I can’t remember why they were rules. And I’m not sure if I’m actually less of a monster than I thought I was, or way more of a monster than I ever imagined. And it’s possible I just wasted the last twenty years of my life, because I never needed to do any of this, _or_ I possibly just wasted the last twenty years of my life by fucking the whole plan at the last minute. And, _maybe_ , I just had the most wonderful night of my life, and it’s really made me think that something could be better. Or, of course, there’s the chance that I just have the best night of my life… and that’s it. Or, maybe I just had the best night of my life, and the price is going to be suffering so much more for the next few centuries...” he trailed off, running out of energy.

“But…It _was_ the best night of your life…?”

And Tony just grinned… and finally took a mouthful of his coffee, which was lukewarm by now. He knew that Rhodey was absolutely dying to ask him more questions. Tony had the strangest feeling he wouldn’t mind answering _those_ questions…

But then he heard Rhodey sigh, heavily.

“You look tired,” he commented, biting back a little smile.

“Yeah…” Tony agreed, “And hungry, and my back hurts. And my eyes hurt…”

“Hm,” Rhodey nodded, softly. “You should eat something, and get some sleep.”

“Drink something,” Tony corrected mindlessly, grimacing again.

Still, at least once he’d suffered through another mug of reject blood, he _could_ go to bed… and the prospect of rest was genuinely comforting.

And Tony did think… or _feel_ … that maybe once he’d had some sleep…

Maybe everything would be better.

*

Steve _tried_ to go to bed, when he and Bucky got back to the Tower.

He knew, logically, that he’d been awake for a full twenty-four hours by then. That he’d had a particularly tiring day – emotionally and physically. That he _should_ want rest by now… that he probably needed it.

Unfortunately, his head had never been more awake.

Steve had curled up under the covers, and squeezed his eyes shut, and willed his body to give into fatigue… But his mind had carried on bouncing around the inside of his skull like a ping pong ball, jumping from one thought to the next without any obvious connection.

He’d tried telling his brain to be quiet – which proved as effective and as frustrating as yelling at the weather.

He’d tried appeasing each worry, talking to himself in firm and rational terms… but before he could quell any one anxiety, another would pipe up loud and clear and petulant.

He’d tried gathering the concerns together into one cohesive thought process, thinking it might be less overwhelming if he could name it or find a framework for it. But every time Steve thought he had an order or a shape to this thing, some random fear would shout up from nowhere and derail his thinking completely-

So, in the end he gave up on that too.

In fact, less than an hour after he got into bed, Steve gave up on the idea of resting all together. Trying to force himself to sleep had proven more stressful than simply staying awake – so, he got up. Without giving it any real thought, he pulled on some old clothes and headed down to the gym. Throwing a few blows at one of the punching bags had always been his go-to solution at times like this.

And, for a few minutes, it worked. Steve was able to put all his excess energy and all his tension into the physical exertion of it, focusing his entire being into those simple, brutal motions. He listened to the rhythm of his heart, and his revelled in the pure relief of his breathing, and he let his mind run away from him in the same way as his body. The background noise faded; the resistance melted away. He let those ideas and memories flow through him, as he let that force run up his back and through his arms,

_I want so much to hold him,_

He aimed a powerful jab into the bag, the shock reverberating up his arm in a not-unpleasant way.

_I want so much to have him,_

Another sharp punch, a stabbing recoil in his shoulder.

_I want so much to help him_,

An almighty blow that shook the chains in their foundations, a jarring screech of tortured metal-

Steve stopped, watching anxiously as the punching bag rocked violently against its restraints, feeling strangely distant from the pounding of his heart or the burning in his lungs. For a few seconds, the only thought in his head was, _I really don’t want to break anymore gym equipment…_

And then, as his body and the bag began to quieten, Steve heard the echo of one single thought.

_I want so much to help him_.

And, the more Steve thought about that, the clearer everything else seemed to get.

Which wasn’t to say that any of the other stuff had suddenly become any less complicated. Steve still hadn’t really processed the fact that he’d fallen in love, or the fact that he’d had sex with someone that wasn’t Bucky, or the fact that any of that had happened with _Tony Stark…_ He still didn’t have an answer to any of the questions that had occurred to him at random, all morning.

But suddenly Steve realised – none of that mattered.

What he wanted and what he felt and what that said about him… Steve couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to care about any of that, right now. Not now that he’d started thinking about Tony – _his_ Tony – suffering in so many ways… Not now that he’d realised this deep and painful desire to _protect him_.

Steve didn’t really have the words for it. There was just this flood of emotions, when he remembered Tony sobbing. Steve’s heart swelled; his arms tensed in an physical need to hold Tony close to him… Steve _needed_ to take that pain away. It was an instinctive thing, a primal thing. More real and more important than anything else he might have to think about at the moment.

He thought of Tony being lost and lonely.

He thought of Tony feeling inadequate and inhuman.

He thought of Tony being weak and vulnerable, simply because of his selfless impulse to leave the best for other people-

Steve just _had_ to help him-

And then he heard a familiar echo in the corridor, which pulled him halfway out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was soft and sleepy, almost slurring, as he walked into the gym.

“Hey,” Steve replied, on auto pilot. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I slept for a month,” Bucky groaned, stretching his back as if to illustrate. And then he paused, and fixed Steve with a more aware look, and asked, “so, what’s the deal with Tony then?”

Steve let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He felt like he should be more prepared for that question. Obviously, Bucky would want to make sure that Tony was okay after what happened. He would wonder _how_ Tony could be okay, what mechanism had protected Tony from harm… and protected Bucky from hurting him. He’d already made a few drowsy enquiries, as Steve and Tony had helped him to his feet last night – and Tony had just smiled, and said that everything was fine, and that Steve would explain it later…

And now it _was_ later, and Steve had no idea how to explain.

Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming burden of responsibility… and a fierce protective instinct. He knew immediately that he wanted to get this exactly right – not because Steve thought there was anything delicate about it, but because he knew Tony did.

The idea of using terms that Tony would find offensive, or giving an impression that Tony would think false, or saying anything that Tony wouldn’t like – about this, of all things – filled Steve with a sense of dread.

“You okay?” Bucky prompted, stepping further into the gym, his eyes narrowing at Steve.

“Yeah, I’m okay…” Steve huffed.

“Yeah?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “Cos you’re doing a really good impression of someone who’s not okay…”

Steve managed a thin smile. Actually, _he_ was probably better than he’d ever been… or, he would be, if it was possible to separate how _he_ felt from how Tony was. Steve was thrilled to discover Tony wanted him, he was genuinely carrying less tension in his shoulders, he had a hundred wonderful memories he would’ve loved to fall into… But it was all secondary to what he felt for Tony. The memory of Tony collapsing against him, or the pain in his eyes when he was was telling that story, or the fact that he’d _really_ assumed that Steve was ‘going along with it’… Steve might’ve felt a lot of things, if he could’ve gotten past that. But there was no getting past that – not unless he fixed it.

“Tony’s a vampire,” Steve sighed, already feeling treacherous. He _knew_ he was allowed to tell Bucky this – there was no reasonable way he could keep it from him, and anyway, Tony had outright said he could… But still, he felt an immediate resistance to saying any of this to anyone.

“Okay…” Bucky frowned. “And, what… Vampires have face-punch-absorbing powers or something?”

“Something like that,” Steve breathed a laugh.

“…Okay, I don’t really know what a vampire is. But fine,” Bucky conceded, easily. “As long as you’re sure I really didn’t hurt him.”

“You didn’t,” Steve smiled, more genuinely. Pleased and proud and maybe even touched that Bucky had reacted in exactly the way he’d expected – whatever Steve’s anxieties had been, they’d never been about what Bucky might say.

“So, what _is_ the problem, then?” Bucky pushed on. “…Did something happen last night?”

Steve dropped his eyes, and then pointedly focused his attention on unwrapping the binding around his knuckles.

The _problem_ was that Tony was miserable. It was the obvious answer to Bucky’s question. The only answer to his question. The trouble was, Steve couldn’t possibly hope to explain it to Bucky without sharing the details of Tony’s trauma… and Steve didn’t feel like he had the permission or the right to do that.

And he’d feel so disloyal anyway, if he and Bucky got into a discussion of Tony’s life behind his back.

And Steve knew that if he mentioned anything _else_ that had happened last night, Bucky would want to talk about it… And Steve didn’t want to bother with that distraction, right now. His head was too focused on Tony’s suffering, his attention fully committed elsewhere. Even the thought of having to continue a conversation about something else was frustrating.

“I…don’t really want to talk about it,” Steve muttered, eventually. Already bracing himself for an interrogation…

But Bucky just sighed.

“You’re planning on doing something dramatic,” wasn’t even a question. “Do you even know what it is yet?”

“No,” Steve admitted – not bothering to argue with the underlying assumption.

“Well, when you figure it out, can you at least give me a heads up if it’s gonna get me shot?” Bucky surrendered, rolling his eyes.

“I promise,” Steve smiled, mostly just pleased he could go back to his own thought process…

Although, if he’d been less consumed by that, Steve would probably have realised that… Bucky gave up on that _way_ too easily…

*

By that night, Tony was beginning to feel a little more like himself. Still somewhat emotional, and confused, and unsettled… But he did feel better for a few hours sleep. His head felt clearer now. Things had started to seem a bit more real.

Rhodey had stayed until he woke up again, just like Tony knew he would. And Rhodey had poured more coffee, and made another careful attempt to get Tony to talk about it… and accepted it, kindly, when Tony realised he really didn’t want to, yet. By then, Tony had started to feel the pressure of all those issues to be dealt with, along with a nagging anxiety that he should have been dealing with it earlier. He had a lot of things to think through for himself, properly, before he could share them with anyone else.

Rhodey didn’t ask him to explain that. He just said that he was there if Tony needed him, and that he’d be back again the following day… And Tony didn’t bother to argue. He could tell from the way that Rhodey said it that he’d be coming back anyway.

So, Tony had just waved him off, and finally started to tidy the workshop – purely for the sake of something to do with his hands while his mind ran away from him.

A good fifteen minutes of trying to make a list of his problems. That proved frustrating and fruitless

Another stretch of time trying to pick any one problem to focus on. That was just unnerving.

He didn’t know how long, trying to think of how bad the worst-case scenario could possibly be – and really, what was the point of that?

And then the elevator stirred again.

“J?” He called out, nervously. He really didn’t have the vaguest recollection of JARVIS announcing anyone, this time.

“Sergeant Barnes, sir,” JARVIS explained – and Tony felt his spine jolt up from under him.

Okay, he was absolutely sure he hadn’t told JARVIS to let Bucky in. That he _wouldn’t_ have said to let Bucky in.

There was no way he was ready to deal with that just yet-

“Did you tell me he was at the door?” Tony demanded, his mind already racing ahead to a thousand other things.

“Forgive me, I thought perhaps we were forgoing that formality,” JARVIS answered, coolly.

Which shocked Tony’s mind quiet for a second.

“Did you just _sass me?_ ” He gasped, incredulous. Not really because JARVIS had talked back, but because Tony had the sudden idea that his AI had just _set him up_ -

The elevator doors slid open before he could yell anything obscene about it.

“Hey,” he squeaked, sounding every bit as taken aback as he was. “Are you okay? Is Steve not with you?”

“Hey. Yeah, I’m okay,” Bucky smiled, a little self-consciously. Almost shy. “And no, Steve isn’t here. Steve is at home, waiting to murder me when he finds out I came here.”

And there was a stab of pure panic right in the centre of Tony’s chest, as his brain leapt to a single conclusion-

He was about to get the shovel talk.

Tony had _no_ idea how to deal with that – how he even felt about being on the receiving end of it. And he didn’t bother trying to work it out. Suddenly all of his thoughts, however frantic and irrational, were finally focused on one topic: how the hell to get out of this, as painlessly as possible.

“Why would Steve murder you for coming here?” Tony asked, his voice unnaturally level.

And Bucky pinched back a little smile, and shook his head, _you know what, just ignore that._

And then he started again.

“So, Steve tells me you’re a vampire,” Bucky said, simply. “And he didn’t really go into a lot of detail – in fairness, I didn’t ask a lot of questions. Only if he was sure I didn’t hurt you, and he said he was. That’s right, yeah?”

Tony wanted to smile at that. He felt like Bucky deserved a smile for that… But he couldn’t manage it. So, instead, he just nodded,

“Yeah, I’m fine. I promise.”

“Well, I’m still sorry…” Bucky sighed. And then, before Tony could contradict him, he went on, “That’s not why I’m here, though.”

“…So why are you here?” Tony wished that hadn’t sounded quite so defensive… But Bucky didn’t seem to take it that way. He just smiled again.

“The thing is… I’m not going to tell you we’re the same in any way,” Bucky said. “I mean, how the hell do I know if that’s true, right? I feel like it sometimes – I should probably tell you that. Even before last night, sometimes I’d feel like maybe you got it somehow. But who am I to guess why that might be…”

Tony felt his panic grind to a halt, a wordless confusion fizzing up in its place.

_…this is not the shovel talk._

_…I have no idea what the fuck this is._

“So, I dunno… maybe what I’m about to say won’t mean anything to you,” Bucky shrugged – somehow not coming over quite as casual as he should be… “Maybe it doesn’t _apply_ to… whatever being a vampire is really all about. Which is probably a lot different to being… whatever the hell I am… But.”

And then he took a brave little breath, and looked Tony right in the eye, and told him.

“You have to let people help you.”

_Oh – it’s this conversation._

Oh, this was almost a comfort, now that Tony had worked it out. Afterall, he knew how to handle _this_ little lecture. He’d had twenty years of this from Rhodey and Pepper, from every conceivable angle. He knew how to politely fob this one off-

“And I don’t mean for you,” Bucky explained. “I mean for _them_.”

…Okay, that was a bit of a curve ball.

“For them?” Tony repeated, frowning.

“For them,” Bucky clarified, with another smile. “And… you know how you _don’t_ let people help you, because you don’t want them to get hurt? Or, you don’t want them to get mixed up in things, or you don’t want to see them try and fail…”

And Tony knew he should be trying to get out of this conversation. He knew this was the place to nod, and thank Bucky for the advice, and politely show him to the door…

But.

Tony could now add this to the growing list of life changing experiences. Talking to someone about the strangest parts of his life and feeling like they not only understood – but they’d actually been there themselves. Being _able_ to find that common ground. Not having to hide his own side of it.

It was a human impulse, as mindless and reckless and against the rules as anything he’d done in the last twenty four hours… But…

“Yeah,” Tony whispered.

“Because you feel like that’s the best way to protect them? Keeping them out of it?” Bucky added, a bit more enthusiastically. And this time Tony could only nod. “Well, I can only tell you what I wish I’d known, way back at the beginning of this – you only hurt people more by trying to cut them out.”

Tony sighed, heavily. Already dreading the tedious reasoning he’d have to go through, to make Bucky see the real risks of letting people get too close… But not in the same way he usually did. It didn’t seem quite as… inevitable, as it usually did. It felt more like the start of a conversation than the delivery of a statement

…which was _better_.

“Rather depends on the risk they’re taking though, doesn’t it?” He began wearily. Thinking of how to explain the realities of being immortal without falling down a rabbit hole with it-

“Not really,” Bucky answered, with a confident shake of his head. And then, when Tony paused, baffled, he clarified, “it’s not even about that.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, it’s… Look, the thing is – by the time someone cares about you, the deal is done. They’re invested, then. They’re going to get hurt when you get hurt, no matter how far away from it you try to keep them. They’re going to get hurt when you push them away, just as much as if anything actually happened to them. And they’re _going_ to stick their oar in, if they think someone’s messing with you, whatever you say… Well, _some people_ , at least…” And he held Tony’s eye for a second, just to remove any shred of doubt that they were talking about Steve. “So, the thing is, it really doesn’t matter if you’re right, and they’re going to be at all sorts of risks because of you – they already are. The only question is whether you can make it any easier on them. If that’s what you’re really thinking of doing, when you push them away…”

“And how do you make it easier on them, then?” Tony asked, very quietly.

“Well, like I say, this is just the benefit of my own fucked up life experience… But _people_ need to feel like they’re doing something. That’s what stops them feeling helpless. That’s what stops them sitting up all night thinking about it. That’s what saves them from torturing themselves when something does happen to you – because then they can at least tell themselves they did what they could.”

Tony stopped, and really thought about it. He wondered whether there really was a bright, hopeful spark of truth to that… or if he just really wanted there to be.

“Look, Bucky… It really isn’t as simple as that,” he sighed, dropping his shoulders. “I mean… my life isn’t exactly something another person could… fit into…”

Bucky waited half a minute after Tony trailed off, making sure he really didn’t have anything more to say. And then he just went on, casually,

“Well, maybe that’s true. Like I say, I don’t know anything about your life. And it’s not my business – we don’t have to talk about anything like that, unless you want to…” And again, a little pause, just to make sure… But Tony shook his head. “But you don’t have to share everything with a person to let them do one thing to help you. You don’t have to let them into everything, and you don’t have to agree to every idea they come up with, and you don’t have to believe that they can really fix anything… But you have to let them try. _Something_. Believe me, that’ll be the thing they hold on to, if everything you’re scared of actually happens. It’ll be the thing that saves them, whatever they end up losing.”

“Okay…” Tony heard himself answer, very softly. And then there was a moment of thick silence… not uncomfortable exactly, but very _there_. At last, Bucky glanced away, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

“I should get back and get murdered,” he said, brightly – and Tony did manage a smile for that.

“Well, if you don’t show up for your next appointment-”

“You’ll give him an alibi, right?” Bucky finished for him. Tony pinched back a smile, and looked at the floor.

“To be honest… Yeah.”

“Good,” Bucky smiled, like he meant it, and made to walk to the elevator again. “See you Tuesday?”

“Yeah, see you Tuesday,” Tony answered on autopilot, watching quietly as the doors slid shut behind him.

He took a second, waiting for the room to settle back into the familiar. Feeling like that whole exchange had been very surreal… like he wasn’t completely confident it had really happened.

“Hey JARVIS?” He called, casually, his eyes still fixed on the elevator.

“Yes, sir?”

“We have not foregone any formalities, I _do_ want to be informed before you let anyone into the house – and I have plenty of people to try and make friends for me, thanks. Don’t think I don’t know what you just did.”

“Duly noted, sir,” JARVIS answered.

Tony could swear he sounded smug.


	10. Chapter 10

When they got to the front door of Tony’s mansion, Steve was having to clench his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous.

This was fundamentally different to the sort of fear that he could step away from, out on the battlefield. More real than even the panic that’d gripped him as he crashed that plane… Maybe it was simply that he’d _known_ he couldn’t survive that one.

But, tonight, Steve was filled with such a dreadful, painful hope. Knowing how unlikely this was to work, and how very much he wanted this to work…

That it just _might_ work-

“Are you still mad at me?” Bucky asked, casually, as they waited for the gentle click of JARVIS unlocking the entrance.

“No,” Steve sighed, automatically. And then he thought about what Bucky meant, and he corrected himself sharply. “No, wait – yes. Yes, I am.”

“I said I was sorry,” Bucky groaned – and then he corrected himself in the exact tone Steve had just used, “Wait, no I didn’t. I’m _not_ sorry.”

Steve turned to say something, but the door unlatched before he could think what it was. So, he settled for throwing Bucky a poisonous glare, and resolved to put the whole thing out of his mind.

He _was_ still pissed that Bucky had gone to see Tony without him… although, if he was being fair, it probably wasn’t that he was annoyed _at_ Bucky, per se. Steve knew he didn’t really have any right to tell Bucky who he could talk to, or what he could say. He even knew he’d been a bit over the top when Bucky first told him – but of course, he wasn’t going to admit that. He was still too uncomfortable about the whole damn thing.

Bucky swore that he hadn’t gone there to talk about Steve. That he ‘hadn’t even mentioned Steve’s name’. But Steve knew, immediately, that was total bullshit – Bucky just looked too damn sheepish about it. And the very fact that he was pretending it wasn’t about Steve made it infuriatingly difficult to figure out exactly what Bucky _had_ said about him, through subtext or eye contact or whatever else.

Steve knew he should’ve spent more time interrogating Bucky over it. That he should have made more effort to prise from him the actual words, the real meaning – the response from Tony. Instead of which, he’d settled for telling Bucky that he _really_ wished he hadn’t done that… perhaps a little more forcefully than strictly necessary… Because, by then, Steve had come up with a plan. As a matter of fact, by the time Bucky dropped that bombshell, Steve was entirely preoccupied with his plan, and simply couldn’t muster up the mental energy to worry about anything else.

Which was the only reason he was able to forget about Bucky’s little intervention now. By the time he and Bucky stepped into the elevator, Steve was once again entirely preoccupied with his own nervousness. Rehearsing everything he was going to say, planning for every response Tony could possibly give, trying to think what he’d do if it all went horribly wrong…

Trying not to daydream about it going right.

Not an efficient use of time.

And then the elevator doors slid open, and there was Tony.

All that noise in Steve’s head faded to nothing, immediately. His initial reaction was a purely physical one; a sudden clenching in his chest, a weakness in his joints, a high, fluttering sensation, somewhere in the middle of him.

Tony was _beautiful_.

And Steve wanted him.

And Steve _loved_ him.

And all at once Steve could feel that bodily terror of losing him – or, worse still, _hurting_ him. That visceral fear of fucking this up.

And that was before any of the other, day-to-day anxieties fully hit him. Steve had only just realised that they’d not even talked about… what happened, yet-

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Tony asked, brightly – looking at Bucky.

“I am feeling great,” Bucky announced proudly, holding his arm out and looking at it reverently. “You know, this week was probably the first time ever that I haven’t thought about how this fucking thing works?”

Steve felt a little curling of guilt, low in his gut. He thought back to the night before, to Bucky saying that his arm felt entirely different since that final procedure. The little hint of excitement as he tried to explain what he meant, the way he’d flexed his fingers as he tried to find the words. In the end, he’d settled for ‘normal’.

Bucky had been so endearingly pleased to just feel normal.

Steve would’ve liked to have been in that moment with him. After all those years of torture and pain, all those months of anxiety and uncertainty, it seemed like they’d finally achieved what they’d set out to do… But Steve was just too consumed by the next crisis to celebrate the end of the last one. He _was_ pleased for Bucky, he _did_ share that excitement… or he would, when he had time for it. For now, he could only hope he’d managed to at least look as though he was listening – and promise to feel appropriately bad, and make sufficient amends, just as soon as he was able.

Which wasn’t now. That little pang of shame was quickly overwhelmed by all of his previous anxieties, which were now moving even faster and louder and more frantically, after that brief reprieve-

“Good,” Tony grinned, with a mix of happiness and pride.

“So, now what?” Bucky asked cheerfully – and Steve was forced to swallow a sudden, bitter taste. Steve hated that question. He’d been running from that question for weeks, and fighting with that question for days, and even now that he _hoped_ he had his own answer to it, still, it made him flinch.

“Well, we have a huge raft of tests to run today,” Tony sighed, waving a hologram into life. “A couple of scans, a bit of bloodwork, a few basic reaction tests – I’ll have to put you out again, for about fifteen minutes or so, just to test your resting and subconscious responses. And then it depends what the results are. It might be that there’s still some minor tweaking to do… but I’m _hoping_ that we fixed it all last time. If that’s the case, then… I guess you should probably schedule a check up or something, in like a month, just to be sure…” he seemed to trail off into his head for a few seconds, and then he snapped himself out of it. “Right, shall we get you stabbed with some needles then?”

“Yay, needles,” Bucky laughed, already walking over to his familiar place on the examination table.

And then Tony glanced up, and caught Steve’s eye for the first time.

It was like Steve’s whole body was tugged sharply towards him. All of a sudden, Tony was so much more than a beautiful man. He was the physical embodiment of everything Steve loved so much about him; all that intelligence and bravery and kindness, made real. The urge to reach out to him was dizzying. To be able to grab hold of that dazzling, _different_ quality in Tony, to take all of his adoration and affection and put it into that embrace, just to feel the shape of Tony against his chest…

A sudden, vivid memory of holding Tony like that, skin to skin…

_Oh God, if this doesn’t work-_

“Hey,” Tony smiled, his eyes soft and dark. Steve let it wash through him like warm water, before he answered, quietly,

“Hey.”

He felt the air between them crackle, a sudden static sensation all over his skin. Then he saw Tony glance at Bucky, a flicker of thought behind his eyes before he looked back at Steve, apologetically. But Steve just nodded – he understood.

He had things he couldn’t say in front of other people, too.

But, as luck would have it, Tony had provided him with an opportunity. ‘Fifteen minutes or so’ in which Bucky would be asleep, and JARVIS would be doing all the work. Steve wouldn’t need as long as that. As huge as this was, and as much as there was riding on it, it would still only take a moment to say.

Which seemed weird, but there it was.

So, Steve did his best to swallow his heartbeat, and watched Tony walk over to begin his work-

Praying to God that it wasn’t the very last time.

*

This was the first time – possibly in his entire life – that Tony had so much difficulty concentrating on his work.

He liked to think that if he’d been doing something risky, he _would_ have been able to pay attention… But these simple, perfunctory tasks weren’t nearly enough to distract him from the chaos in his head. He kept finding himself staring at a string of numbers with no idea what he was looking at, or poised to make a note with absolutely no recollection of what it was. Even keeping up a basic conversation with Bucky proved a challenge. Everything Bucky said interrupted a lively and disjointed train of thought in Tony’s head, snapping him back to a world that made no sense…

It would’ve been frustrating, if Tony had the space to feel anything other than nervous.

He really thought he’d managed to get the tangled web of worries into some sort of order, before Steve and Bucky arrived. Tony knew there were still a hundred questions he hadn’t answered, maybe a thousand things he still had to give some serious consideration… But he’d thought he’d at least reached _a_ conclusion. He’d thought that he’d at least settled on a list of priorities, and an overall shape to the plan…

But then there was Steve. Soft and strong and safe, and right there, where Tony could so easily have reached out to him…

The most confusing thing about it was the sudden sense of clarity. The way everything just seemed to make sense, when Steve was actually there.

_If I just put my arms around him right now, he’d let me_

_If I had Steve, nothing else would matter_

_Of course it would be okay, it is okay_-

And Tony knew that he shouldn’t think that way. That he’d had spent three whole days working out why he couldn’t think that way… But as soon as he saw Steve, all that carefully constructed context just fell apart. It was like waking up in the middle of a dream, unable to remember the logic of it. 

If Tony had been forced to choose in that moment, he’d have picked wrong. He’d have gone with that instinct – because, for a good few minutes, there was nothing else. Just that _feeling_ of total certainty, and nothing whatsoever to contradict it…

But, luckily… no, it _was_ ‘lucky’, even if it didn’t feel that way… _luckily_ , he didn’t have the chance to talk to Steve just then. Whatever else he was confused about, it was obvious that they couldn’t have this conversation with Bucky waiting awkwardly on the side-lines. So, Tony had done his best to get on with the task in hand, all the while trying frantically to remember what his original plan had been – trying to convince himself that he’d been on the right track with it, before this entirely irrational, purely emotional response had thrown him for a loop.

He had to bring this whole arrangement with Steve and Bucky to an end – _today._

That was the key point, the basis for everything else. The one thing that had _felt_ right, when it first occurred to him.

He still didn’t know whether he really had to walk away from Steve forever.

He still had no idea what he and Steve could possibly have, if he didn’t.

Tony didn’t know how he could carry on, if he did…

But the one thing that had seemed sensible, and bearable, was ending this professional obligation. Saying it was over _for now._ It was the one option that soothed both his fear of losing Steve and his fear of going ahead with it – a way of walking away without it hurting too much, or a way to keep that option open in his head… He didn’t even have to work out which it was, just yet. If he told himself it wasn’t _that_ monumental decision, maybe he could make it.

He’d even convinced himself that it was objectively healthy. Making it so that he _could_ walk away, without condemning both Steve and Bucky to a lifetime of danger and anxiety. Maybe making it so that he and Steve _could_ talk, one day, without either of them having to consider the future working relationship, or the knock-on effects for anyone else…

If Tony could just bring himself to shake Bucky’s hand, and declare the project a success, and make it clear than neither of them ever _had_ to come back again…

Maybe then Tony would have the space to think about it properly. Consider what he actually wanted, and what might really be possible, without all those other responsibilities to complicate things.

Maybe he would have the space to see that the whole thing was a disaster, an impossibility – that he’d seriously dodged a bullet by getting out when he did.

...Or, _maybe_ , there could be something else, after all this-

And, yes, there was still that dark voice in his head. The one that whispered that everything had changed, that there were new and more terrible anxieties to concern himself with, that it wasn’t about his trivial worries of being made vulnerable or getting his friends hurt. Not anymore. A creeping, cold feeling, somewhere under his skin, trying to warn him that he had to _run_ from this – a feeling of reckoning, brewing somewhere over the horizon…

_You want to bite him, though._

But maybe he _could_ put that off, for the time being. Maybe he could turn this into a decision that needn’t take any of that into account.

Because, really, one week just _wasn’t_ enough time to rethink all of his priorities, all of his memories, his entire sense of self. It wasn’t long enough to make a decision this big. Tony couldn’t commit to walking away from this, or to _not_ walking away from this, with all these confused ideas swirling in his head. He wouldn’t be truly free to think about any of it, until he could stop thinking about the next time he saw Steve.

But he could finish an engineering project, he knew that much.

He could wish Steve and Bucky luck, and let them walk away with no plans to return

…He _could_ call Steve sometime, in the future, if it turned out that-

“So… Now what?” Bucky asked cautiously, snapping Tony out of his daydreams. Tony felt a phantom blush of embarrassment, as he realised that he had no idea how long he’d been lost in the middle distance.

“Oh, right, okay… Now…” And he really had to search for an answer to that question – to remember what they were even doing in the first place. “Okay, probably time for the resting reaction tests…”

Oh.

Oh, that meant it was time to be alone with Steve, didn’t it?

_Time to tell him goodbye…_

God, that had seemed such a good idea a few hours ago. Now it made Tony’s whole being seize in terror, like some primal part of him was warning him, _no_. And the more cerebral part of him tried its best to counsel him,

_It might not be forever_

_It might be for the best, if it is_

_It’s either that or tell him something else, and you know you’re not ready for that-_

But Jesus, all Tony wanted to do was throw his arms around Steve’s waist and bury his head in Steve’s neck and tell him every fear and frustration he had in his head… He _felt_ like Steve would make it all better.

“So, yeah, you ready?” Tony muttered, glancing over to his equipment and then back to Bucky. And Bucky just grinned, and put his feet up on the examination table, and stretched out.

“Ready,” he smiled nonchalantly, resting his head on his interlocked hands. And, in spite of everything, Tony managed to smile back – that just seemed very Bucky.

“Okay, give me two minutes to start the programme…” Tony had to force the words over the growing pressure in his chest, already thinking ahead to what he was going to say to Steve. Trying _not_ to think about saying something else instead. “Then we’ll administer the sedative, and that should work pretty much immediately…”

“‘Kay,” Bucky agreed, letting his eyes slip shut.

Tony warned himself not to look at Steve, and did it anyway.

He told himself not to think about that night – and did it anyway.

And then Steve caught his eye, and blushed… And Tony just knew that Steve was thinking about it too.

Tony told himself that wasn’t a good thing… and felt good about it anyway.

“You are feeling sleepy, very sleepy…” Tony joked, mindlessly, after he finally injected the anaesthetic. Mocking the stereotypical hypnotists from every Bugs Bunny cartoon. Bucky snorted a laugh, but already it sounded heavy and distracted, as he fell softly into sleep. Tony let his eyes rest on Bucky for a few moments more than necessary. Gearing himself up for what had to happen. Practicing his dialogue one last time.

_I’m glad I could help._

_I’m glad all this happened._

_Good luck, I’ll think of you, I hope it all works out…_

_It’s not anything you did, I just need to think about everything._

… He could swear it didn’t all sound so awkward and tacky, when he was thinking about it yesterday.

And then he looked up at Steve again, and it just overwhelmed him.

_I don’t care if I do lose everything._

_I don’t care who comes for me, or what they say._

_I don’t care what it looks like, I just want to be with you-_

_…And Rhodey?_

_…And Pepper?_

…Oh yeah. This wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t only his life he had to think about.

_And when you change one day, and bite him-_

He couldn’t have this.

_Ever._

Tony ignored that final, spiteful whisper and recommitted himself to his original plan. Reminding himself that it wasn’t about forever, it was about right now. Telling himself that this was undeniably for the best, right now.

He did one final check of his monitor, almost wishing he’d find some anomaly to investigate… But no. All scans running as they should be, all results as expected. And, of course, that meant that this was now _the_ time. The few moments he’d have alone with Steve, before…

Well, before that chance had passed.

So.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” Tony began, attempting a light tone of voice. Steve blinked in confusion, and Tony rushed to explain, “Bucky seemed to think you were going to murder him, the last time he was here...”

Steve huffed an embarrassed laugh, blushing deeper.

“Yeah, I was tempted,” he muttered, self-consciously. “But, you know, what with all the time and effort you just put into fixing his arm, it seemed kinda rude to tear it off and beat him to death with it.”

A genuine giggle managed to crack through the tightness in Tony’s ribs. It helped, a little.

“Thank you, for… everything you’ve done for him,” Steve carried on, “You don’t even know… just how much all of this means…”

“I’m glad I could help,” Tony told him, sincerely.

And then there was a pregnant pause, as Tony willed himself to push ahead with it. Trying to think of something he could add that would sound final, some way to ease them towards that conclusion. Dismissing all the options, because none of them sounded right…

Because he didn’t want to say it really.

“You like helping,” Steve said, eventually. Tony couldn’t quite tell whether it was a question or not.

“Some people,” he answered, with an unsure smile. There was a little prickle of anticipation over his skin, some instinctive warning that something was about to happen… But Tony wasn’t sure what exactly he’d picked up on…

“Not just some people. You help lots of people,” Steve corrected… nervously. “And it just… makes me think…” And then he took a little breath – which Tony found unbearably endearing – and added, more firmly, “I should be doing more, maybe.”

“…Like what?” Tony frowned.

“Well… you know you said that there are all these sick kids that need blood, but not enough people donate it?”

“Yeah?” Tony clarified, his muscles tensing up entirely of their own accord. Something about this was very wrong…

“Well, I’d actually thought about that before. I mean, I assumed I’d be a great candidate for that - you know, I can lose up to three litres of blood before I even have to worry? And make it back twice as fast as anyone else,” Steve was speaking too quickly, like he was worried he was running out of time… “And, you’d _think_ that my blood would be really good, for transfusions and stuff, seeing as it’s perfectly healthy and all – but Nick seemed to think it was a really bad idea.”

As Steve was talking, Tony could feel his stomach turning to slime. That physical discomfort grew with every word, closing all around him, like it was crushing him.

He couldn’t think about Steve and… _blood_ , he couldn’t start thinking about _Steve’s blood_ , not like this-

He didn’t dare think about what Steve was leading up to – even though, clearly, some part of him had already worked it out-

“Apparently my blood is a national secret,” Steve rushed on. “And I can’t go giving batches away at community blood drives, and I don’t even know the effect it might have on someone else, blah, blah, blah… Do you think that’s even true?”

“What?” Tony replied automatically, his ears still ringing in panic.

“That the serum would make my blood dangerous for a regular person?”

“Er, well, I mean…I don’t…”

“It always sounded kind of fake to me. I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust Nick – I know he’s on my side, and no one’s ever going to be able to buy him, or blackmail him or whatever. It’s just that I don’t always trust what he’s telling me? He does this thing, where he only tells you what he thinks it’s best for you to know…” And then Steve shook his head sharply, like he was telling himself off, and seemed to focus. “But my point is, I feel like I can’t take the risk. And, I dunno, that seemed like kind of a shame at the time… But I just keep thinking about it, now.”

“You feel bad because you can’t donate blood?” Tony enunciated, not sure himself what tone he was aiming for. And he saw Steve swallow, and he _knew_ Steve was readying himself for some final jump, and Tony just wanted to _stop_ him – but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think of any words. He couldn’t even remember the word for _no_.

“I just want to help,” Steve answered, his voice so sincere and… _hopeful_. It was unbearable. “And, if I _could_ donate my blood to a hospital, I guess anyone would tell me to do it. Nat and Sam probably do, thousands of ordinary Americans do, and it’s not any great hardship. And it’d be _less_ of a hardship for me, and maybe the blood I could donate would be better… But I can’t use to help like that. So, couldn’t I use it to help you?”

“To help me.” Tony repeated, shocked and scared and mostly just stalling for time.

“Well, from the sounds of it, if I did try to donate my blood to a hospital – like you were saying more people should do – then it’d just end up in the reject batch anyway. Which you seem okay with taking-”

“That’s not…” Tony interrupted for the sake of interrupting – but he couldn’t think how to end the sentence.

“Look, Tony, I know when you see a problem in the world, you _want_ to help. You want to make things better for people – that’s _why_ you take the blood no one else wants. And it just seems like you taking that from other people is… like it doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, but, I mean, the stuff you drink, does it actually keep you healthy?”

And, Jesus, why couldn’t Tony just tell him yes? Why couldn’t he just lie, and say it was fine, and that Steve really didn’t have to do this?

“And I know it makes you miserable, having to drink that stuff,” Steve pushed ahead. “And I get why you do that – but if there’s an alternative right there, and it’s so much better, and it can’t hurt me, and _I want to do it_ , then why wouldn’t you just… think about it?”

It was the pleading tone he’d slipped into right at the end. The way Steve’s eyes widened as that little edge of desperation finally cut through.

And there was the exact same destructive compulsion that had gripped Tony during that very first appointment-

Tony just couldn’t make himself tell Steve no.

But this wasn’t like that first time – this time the answer _was_ no. Tony was sure of that. Every cell in his body instinctively recoiled from this idea, every part of him knew it was wrong. He was terrified to even think about it.

He didn’t _want_ to find a part of him that was okay with this-

“Steve, I…” He whispered, willing something to follow…

_I don’t want you to have any part of… that side of me_

_I don’t know how it would change me… or you_

_I’m scared to death I’d like it-_

Tony couldn’t explain any of that. However far he’d come since last week, however much he trusted Steve, he couldn’t go _there_. The fears he’d been nursing for the last twenty years had been hard enough to deal with, but these _new_ fears… Tony hadn’t faced those himself yet. Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to face them, ever – he couldn’t bear Steve to know them. He couldn’t stand the thought of Steve trying to argue with them, of having to _convince_ him-

He couldn’t say it, he just couldn’t.

And he _still_ couldn’t force himself to say no.

“It’s not that simple,” he blurted, looking away from Steve. “It’s not just… _food_ , it’s not just about it being… efficient or convenient, or-”

“I’m not saying-”

“No, Steve, I… It’s… a personal thing. It’s an… _intimate_ thing,” and, okay, Tony immediately regretted that choice of word. “It’s… I’m just… I’m not-”

“You’re not comfortable with it,” Steve sighed. Tony felt a plunging guilt when he heard the disappointment in Steve’s voice, an inherent resistance to _being the bad_ guy. He felt an immediate impulse to apologise, for what he didn’t know-

But Steve carried on talking.

“And, you’re right, I don’t really know what I’m talking about, and if I’ve just massively put my foot on it or said something really insensitive, then I’m really, really sorry…”

And Tony could feel it in that pause. That same do-or-die determination that got Captain America through the end of the world so many times. That simple, indomitable willingness to try. Tony _knew_ , however vulnerable Steve felt right now, however genuine his fear of hurting Tony, he was still going to say _but._ The conversational equivalent of strapping his shield to his arm and running headlong into battle, because he couldn’t bear to do less.

Tony kind of wished he didn’t love Steve so much for that very thing.

He didn’t want to be the thing Steve came up against, he didn’t want to want Steve to lose-

 _Sometimes you have to let people help you_.

Oh, fuck, this was all _way_ too much, and-

“ _But_ ,” Steve said – in the full-on Captain America voice, by now. “What if this _is_ just a… better idea, that you started off feeling uncomfortable with? I know that… a lot’s happened. And I know there’s a lot I don’t know, and I’m not trying to tell you anything about your life – this is me just saying, about… _life._ How _anyone_ can be uncomfortable with something, at least at first, and that not necessarily mean… that it isn’t worth _thinking about_.”

“Steve,” Tony whispered, leaning his weight onto the nearest flat surface. Realising that his legs _literally_ felt weak, that his head was swimming, that Steve’s voice sounded distant and echoey when he called to him,

“Tony-”

“ _No_ , Steve, I can’t…” Tony blurted, trying to talk over the growing noise in his head.

He couldn’t _think about it_.

He understood why Steve would say that, why anyone would think it was harmless to _consider_ a new idea-

How could Tony possibly explain that he was doing everything he could not to think about it anyway? That even thinking about it would change him, would force him to face what he’d become already?

How could he possibly explain that the real problem was that he _did_ want to, and it was-

Oh God, he _did_ want to-

“I can’t think about this,” he snapped, talking to himself as much as Steve…

And then he saw that hurt flash up in Steve’s eyes, and _something_ in Tony felt compelled to add,

“I can’t think about this right now. This is… just… a lot, and I can’t just answer you… right away, like this.”

And Tony was genuinely baffled as to how this many conflicting impulses could exist in him all at once. How he could feel each of them so intensely, and so purely…

He was terrified of what Steve was saying, and desperate to run from it.

He couldn’t bear to hurt Steve, and was immediately prepared to do anything to avoid it.

He wanted to push Steve away, and he wanted to pull Steve into him…

And he wanted Steve’s blood.

Which felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the most perverse thing in the world, all at once.

And then he saw Steve gasp softly, his face softening into such an open, vulnerable hope… It made Tony’s whole body ache. He didn’t know whether he loved or hated that feeling.

“So, don’t think about it right now,” Steve offered, almost eagerly. That tone a kid uses when they think they’re winning the argument, _and I promise I’ll feed it and love it and walk it every day…_

“I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to help,”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Steve assured him, “ _I’m_ sorry, I know this all came out wrong, I’m… bad at this anyway…”

“No, you aren’t,” Tony breathed, still trying to find his balance.

“…You can call me any time, you know.” Steve told him, softly. “About this, or… anything.”

And Tony vaguely remembered that this was where he’d intended to begin. He was supposed to think about this part… whether they were ever going to see each other again, and _why_ … if he was supposed to say yes, or no, or maybe…

He knew he’d already thought about this.

He knew, just a few moments earlier, it had all seemed to important…

But nothing seemed anything, now.

He was stunned, rather than numb. He definitely felt things, but apparently his brain had short circuited entirely, and couldn’t process any of it. He could only nod, not sure himself whether it meant _yes, I know,_ or _yes, I will_.

And then Tony felt a horrible, treacherous heat rise up in his chest – oh, God, he really didn’t want to cry right now-

“Sir?” JARVIS interrupted, cautiously.

“Hm?” Tony managed, looking up.

“The initial biological scans have completed, sir,” JARVIS informed him, “If you would like to initiate the neurological scans.”

And Tony very nearly answered him, _that should be an automatic process_ , w _hat are you asking me for?_

But then it occurred to him just how glad he was of the excuse to get out of this situation for a moment…

…And that was obviously what JARVIS was asking him for.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” he replied, with a little too much feeling, and all but ran over to bury his face in one of the monitors.

*

Steve had been lying on the couch in the break room for the last two hours, just staring at the ceiling.

The automatic lights had turned themselves off again… Steve didn’t know how long it’d been since he lost patience with waving his arms to wake them up each time. And, anyway, lying here in the shadows seemed more fitting, somehow.

God, he was… miserable. And anxious. And ashamed. And… well, pretty much all the bad feelings.

_It’s a personal thing… it’s an intimate thing…_

Steve felt his stomach turn over again, that same instinct to claw his own skin off out of sheer embarrassment. He didn’t even know what he’d done… But, Jesus, what if it _was_ something intimate and personal and… creepy?

Another random thought leapt into his head – which had been happening all evening. Right now Steve’s brain was just an endless noise of unrelated, unhelpful ideas, yelling at him ineffectually… This time the memory of a particularly clueless guy he once overheard in a bar, ranting to his friends that ‘he didn’t know why Lola was so upset’. And, because Steve had nothing else to concern himself with back then, he’d listened along with a horrified sort of interest as the guy explained his attempt at a good deed… Which was, as far as Steve could tell, offering to sleep with a gay friend – _or her girlfriend,_ he didn’t have a preference – because they had hit some snag with adopting a kid.

And Steve had been aghast… but also a little smug. Thinking that, however lost he felt in the 21st Century, at least he wasn’t that fucking ignorant…

Jesus, he hadn’t just done that, had he? Offered up something entirely, _offensively_ inappropriate…

Had Tony just been shocked and insulted and embarrassed on Steve’s behalf, was _that_ what that reaction was?

_Oh, what if that’s the last thing I ever say to him…_

_That_ thought had cropped up again and again, since he left Tony’s house. Every time Steve considered another way he might’ve just fucked up, it came with that same lament,

_If Tony never calls me_

_If Tony doesn’t answer_

_If that’s just it now…_

…Then it didn’t really matter how much of an ass Steve had just made of himself, did it? The point was that Steve might’ve just said goodbye to Tony for the very last time.

He might never see his face again, or hear that voice…

God, there weren’t even any pictures of him-

And then the breakroom speakers broke into life, immediately blaring a wall of drums and guitars and synth that Steve just registered as a noise. He sat up in alarm, triggering the motion sensor lighting into life, scanning frantically until he saw the outline of Bucky walking through the left-hand door.

“What the hell?” Steve demanded.

“Oh, it’s called _emo_ ,” Bucky explained brightly, as strolled over to the easy chair. “Thought I might as well finish setting the mood.”

And just as he said it, the song hit the chorus – someone yelling that they were not okay, over and over. Steve threw Bucky a sharp glare.

“Bit on the nose,” he muttered.

“Brooding in the dark at four in the morning?” Bucky questioned, with faux innocence. Steve sighed grumpily.

“Yeah, okay, you’ve made your point. Please turn it off.”

Bucky shrugged, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, and swiped his finger across the screen. The music cut out to an instant silence, and Steve sighed again – this time out of relief.

“Okay, just tell me this,” Bucky suggested, after a moment. “You know the first time you spoke to Peggy, when you came out with that stuff out about not expecting a beautiful dame to join the army or whatever – was it worse than that?” And Steve groaned, and threw one arm over his face.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Yeesh,” Bucky replied. “Okay, not gonna lie, now I _really_ want to know what you did…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve told him.

“Did he get mad at you?” Bucky pushed on, regardless. And, in spite of everything, Steve found himself answering,

“I don’t even know.”

“So, what, he got mad, but maybe not at you?” Bucky guessed, like he was playing a parlour game.

“He got… something, and I don’t know what it was-” and then he caught himself, sharply, “and I _don’t_ want to talk about it.”

“So, what do you want to talk about?” Bucky offered. Steve glanced over and threw him a smile for that, although it didn’t reach his eyes.

And then his phone rang.

Steve was on his feet in half a second, almost dropping the phone in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?”

“…Hi,” Tony answered, slightly hesitantly. Steve felt his heart stop in his chest, turning to look at Bucky – who was already standing, showing Steve his palms, _I’m going, I’m going_.

“Hi,” Steve breathed, as Bucky all but ran out of the room.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“God no,” Steve replied, too quickly. “No…I haven’t bothered trying to go to sleep, to be honest.”

“No, me neither,” Tony admitted.

And then there was a pause.

Steve was desperate to fill that gap, desperate to explain himself or make his case again or, just – _anything_ to keep Tony on the phone…

But he’d said too much already, he knew he had.

Even without his fears that he’d put his foot in it or gone too far or said the wrong thing… he knew he’d just said _too much_. That he’d babbled, and ended up in an agonising and protracted discussion about the nature of blood donation, and whether he trusted Nick-

He’d have liked to have another go at it, really. To say some of the things he’d spent the last two hours wishing he’d said the first time…

But better not to make the same mistake again, eh?

Maybe it was better to let Tony do the talking…

“So, the thing is…” Tony began, eventually. “I don’t really know how any of this works, either.”

“How… any of what… works?” Steve clarified, awkwardly.

“Being a vampire… drinking _someone’s_ blood… All I know about what I am is what Obie told me, and I choose to believe _all_ of that is bullshit, so… I don’t know.”

“But… You _do_ drink people’s blood?” Steve asked, over a rising nervousness.

Was that a stupid question?

Was Steve supposed to know that already?

Had he wildly misinterpreted what Tony had said to him, before?

“Well, _yes_.” Tony sighed. “But… I don’t know, it’s never _just_ someone’s blood, it’s always a mixture of everything… and I never know that person – and it’s not like I’m ever going to pass anyone in the street, so who knows if… y’know, I’d know, or they’d know…”

“And that… bothers you?”

“I… Don’t really know what bothers me, to be honest,” Tony confessed “I just know that something about this bothers me.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve whispered, miserably. “I never meant to upset you. I swear, I _did_ try to think-”

“I know,” Tony cut him off… _kindly._

Something in the softness of his tone then made Steve pause.

It _felt_ different.

“But what I’m saying is…” Tony tried to start again. “If you’re thinking you stepped out of your lane today… it’s not my lane either. It’s not like you can say the wrong thing to me about being a vampire – because I don’t know what the right thing is either. I don’t really know how any of it works, or what any of it means. So, if you want to ask me whether it’s a good idea, or a dangerous idea, or a… creepy idea, or whatever… You could just as easily ask Bucky. He’d have about as much basis for an opinion on it as I would.”

“But… I mean, only you can say how you feel about it…” Steve prompted – trying not to get his hopes up.

“Ha. Well. I’m not really any great expert on what I’m feeling, either,” Tony muttered. And then, more firmly, added, “And anyway, you might be right that… well, me feeling good or bad about something isn’t really any indicator that it’s good or bad…”

Steve literally held his breath, as he frantically flicked through all the potential responses to that…

_So, you think maybe…?_

“So, I guess my first question is… What makes you so sure this isn’t a bad idea?” Tony asked him.

And, okay, that threw Steve a bit – but he was on a mission now, and determined to do his very best to meet every individual challenge.

“I guess… I just couldn’t think of a reason it wasn’t?” He offered, nervously. “I mean, I did try to think of why it might be a bad idea… But, I don’t know, I figured if _someone_ was donating their blood… Could it really be so much worse if it was me rather than someone else?”

Oh dear.

He really hoped that strange, very specific jealousy hadn’t bled through there…

Steve was doing his best to ignore that.

“And, uh, I don’t know,” he forced himself on – mainly trying to push past his own uneasiness. “I kind of have a checklist, I guess… But I couldn’t think of a reason it could kill either of us, or hurt either of us, or put anyone _else_ at risk, or upset the global political balance in anyway… And I couldn’t see any reason we couldn’t just stop, if it turned out to be a bad idea – or why that would be worse than just not doing it in the first place… So, that’s kind of my list?”

And then he heard Tony huff out a little sigh…

“Okay, so I have one more question…” he said, carefully. “And it’s just really important to me that you tell the truth. That’s… really more important than whatever the answer turns out to be, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve promised.

“…You know, you said you, uh… _liked_ me, the first time you saw me?”

“Yeah?”

“…Why?”

“You really don’t see why someone would like you?” Steve asked, sadly – but Tony was quick to correct him.

“I don’t mean that. I mean… anything you like about me, you couldn’t have known then, right? You didn’t have any reason to like me or not like me, _when you first saw me_. So, I just mean… was that literally true? And, I mean, thinking it about it now… I don’t know, does it seem… _weird,_ to you?”

And Steve knew that question should panic him, for all sorts of reasons.

He was scared to death of telling Tony how he really felt anyway – scared of the potential rejection, scared of screwing it up, scared of losing what little they had already.

He was confused and conflicted as to how it might affect the offer he was making. Not sure if he _should_ tell Tony he loved him, whether that was fair or unfair… whether it made it more or less likely that Tony would say yes.

If it had been up to Steve how to respond, he would probably have had an anxiety attack. Stuttered and babbled and said all the wrong things – probably far too many of them.

But Tony had sort of given him an out. He’d made Steve _promise_ to be honest.

So, the only way Steve could play this now was to do exactly that, and hope to God that it was the ‘right’ answer.

“Okay, um, _honestly_ … I don’t know if I _did_ ‘like’ you, the first time I saw you,” Steve told him, through gritted teeth. “I mean, I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life – and maybe fixated on that a little bit, I guess. Mainly, just… I am pretty sexually frustrated, I don’t know if you could tell-”

Tony barked a surprised laugh at that, which Steve chose to take as a good sign.

“But, actually, I remember the first time I realised that I liked you, it was when you didn’t make a big deal about Bucky not wanting pain killers,” he carried on carefully, like a man walking a tightrope. “So, I mean, I don’t really know what’s weird or what isn’t, but, from my point of view… I met someone, I thought they were attractive, turned out I liked them. I mean…”

Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? 

“Would you be making this offer, if we’d never had sex?” Tony asked, somewhat abruptly. And Steve’s only reaction to that was, _oh, thank God, an easy question._

“Of course.”

“This has nothing to do with…that?”

“Well, I mean, I’m doing this because I like you, and I did… that, because I like you,” Steve explained, “So, I guess, in that respect… But I’d like you either way, and I’d want to do either of those things, either way…”

_Talking too much again…_

Steve forced himself to stop, and held his breath. And then, after what seemed like _such_ a long time, Tony finally spoke.

“Okay.”

“…Okay?” Steve repeated, in a very level voice. _Please say you mean_ -

“ _If_ we try this… We can _try_ this, once, just to see… But you’ll have to donate that blood on your own time, and bring it. I can’t… take your blood-”

“Fine,” Steve agreed, far too eagerly. “We have a med lab here, I can arrange that, easy.”

“And if I tell you this isn’t working out, you’re just going to have to take my word for it,” Tony added, more sternly. “If it turns out that this just… _doesn’t_ work, and I can’t explain it-”

“No, obviously – I wouldn’t make you explain anyway, you know that.”

“And you can’t mention this to anyone, not even the tech taking your blood. They can’t know what it’s for.”

“No, obviously. I wouldn’t.” Steve promised faithfully.

“And… At least the first time, you’ll have to bring it yourself.” Tony finished, almost reluctantly.

Steve almost bit his own tongue off in a rush to agree.

“Fine, of course, just name the time.”

“Well, uh, maybe you should call me, when… it’s done” Tony suggested, stiffly.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve nodded, grinning broadly by now. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

He swore he could _hear_ Tony smile at that.

“Okay, well, I should probably let you try to get some sleep,” Tony tried to joke. “You humans with your daylight hours and all.”

“Yeah, I probably should…” Steve agreed – already knowing there was literally no chance of that. Actually, he was just trying to get out of this phone call before he blew it. “But, I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony breathed. And then, after the slightest little pause he added, “Thank you.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Steve assured him. “I’m happy to help.”

And Jesus, he’d never been this happy to help in his life.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for this slight delay in updating, and to anyone whose comment I've not yet gotten around to answering - and, more importantly, apologies for being such an unbearable tease. I swear to God, we're so close to those tags now... but not quite yet. 
> 
> But I really hope you enjoy it!

Of course, Steve knew how to draw his own blood.

He’d collected two and a half pints within an hour of Tony’s call, telling himself it was because the med lab was likely to be deserted at this time of the morning…

Not even realising that it was because he just couldn’t wait.

Not thinking anything of this sudden rush of excitement, the thrilled racing of his heart, this uncontrollable grin. Just being _happy_ that Tony had said yes, feeling giddy at the thought of actually getting to do this… accepting this reaction, as if it was the most normal thing in the world…

Until he was watching the blood drain from his arm.

Up until that point, Steve was _sure_ his motivations had been… well, _mostly_ rational. He didn’t deny that he’d desperately wanted any excuse to see Tony again, and obviously his desire to help him was at least partly emotional… But Steve was sure that he’d spent the last few days thinking about the objective benefits and the logical arguments, exactly as he’d explained them to Tony.

Okay, maybe there had been that little splinter of hard-to-explain jealousy… but he’d been _ignoring_ that.

And, as such, it came as of something of a surprise to recognise that he was already gripped by this entirely illogical, purely physical thrill… thinking of the blood draining from his body…

_For Tony._

He tried ignoring that too, at first. Instinctively, it felt like something he shouldn’t be thinking about…

 _Tony wouldn’t like it_.

Which was enough to put Steve off for maybe half a minute. But that feeling was just too intense, too all-consuming, for him to deny for long. He became uncomfortably aware of how much he _liked_ this idea, how much he wanted to think about it… the fact that it turned him on.

And he knew that was wrong.

Immediately, he understood how uncomfortable it would make _Tony_ – that Tony hated vampire fetishists, that he didn’t want to make this an ‘intimate thing’, that he’d hate to think of Steve sexualising it like this…

But none of that stopped the heat pulsing under Steve’s skin. If anything, it all just melted into one giddy, queasy sensation. Shame and desire, confusion and clarity…

Steve hadn’t been expecting any of this.

He’d been _so_ certain of this plan. It was the first thing he’d been truly sure of since he came out of the ice. He’d just felt like he understood it, like it all fell into place and made such perfect sense – that there wasn’t anything he could possibly be caught out by.

And now there was _this_ …

And Steve knew this meant he should stop, at least for a moment. That was a basic mission protocol, hardwired since his army days – if something doesn’t feel right, you have to check it out. If you have the opportunity to pause and reassess the situation, you should. That’s how you avoid ambushes and traps and moments of madness…

_But I don’t want to avoid this moment of madness_.

He’d try to deny that later. He’d reword it and downplay it and try to bury it with other, more acceptable reasoning… But the fact was, in the moment, Steve’s first instinct was not to think about it-

 _Because_ he didn’t want to change his mind.

He’d liked feeling sure of this plan – he’d liked how he felt, when he was succeeding in something that he knew was good.

…And maybe he liked this plan even _more_ now.

… _Maybe_ he was even more scared of having to talk himself out of it.

…And, anyway, he really _shouldn’t_ think about it-

That was another way to look at it, right? That, actually, indulging this sudden, irrational, out of character impulse was likely to _cause_ more problems…

And Steve genuinely did feel like, if he started to think about it… he might end up thinking all sorts of things…

 _That_ was what Tony wouldn’t like, right? For Steve to sit here and think about…Tony biting him…

No, that was definitely off limits.

So… He was just going to carry on with this...

…Right?

That was what he’d decided before this strange emotional interlude – that was what his rational brain had thought best, and it was always best to go with that…

And not think about… _intimate, personal_ things… in that way… at all.

By that time the fifth bag was almost full, and Steve decided it was probably best to stop there.

He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded…

*

Tony might’ve still been staring at his phone, the whole time Steve was in the med lab.

He knew he’d just glared at it for what seemed like hours after Steve finally hung up – for long enough that his arm actually ached, when he finally got to moving it.

And yet, he was still stunned.

The enormity of what had just happened – _what he’d just fucking done_ – simply would not fit in his head. This was going to be _so_ bad, when he finally worked out how to process ‘bad’ on that sort of scale-

He’d called Steve to say no. He _really_ had. Or… at least to put Steve off. Tony could swear he’d had a _plan_ , and everything…

He’d tried to explain that Steve hadn’t done anything wrong in offering… trying to make himself feel better by making Steve feel better. Thinking of how much it would hurt _him_ to have to tell Steve no, putting as many caveats and concessions in as he could think of.

_Don’t feel ignorant, I’m not an expert either._

_Don’t feel rejected, this isn’t about how I feel._

_Don’t think you upset me – I don’t even know what upset me._

It had all sounded so measured and final when he was practising beforehand… and then it had come out hesitant and unsure and _questioning_. Tony could hear the little lift of hope in Steve’s voice – the _exact_ thing he’d been hoping to avoid… And Tony could hardly blame him. He _was_ talking as though the answer might be yes…

And he could _swear_ it still wasn’t, then.

That he was still struggling desperately towards that no, that he was allowing no other arguments-

He _had_ pushed ahead with the plan.

He’d asked why Steve was so sure about it, thinking that _maybe_ it would become clear that Steve hadn’t thought it all the way through… although, to be honest, Tony had never banked on that. He was expecting Steve to have run through a checklist; he was even prepared for the swell of affection that rose up in him when Steve said it.

…He’d been a little bit thrown when Steve asked, _why someone else’s blood, and not mine?_

…Just by how deeply he’d _felt_ that particular point, how-

But _no_ – there was no need to spiral into hours of analysis of that one throwaway comment. _That_ wasn’t what had derailed Tony’s entire plan.

It was the next question.

And, Jesus, Tony _really_ thought he’d considered every answer Steve could possibly give – every reason Steve could possibly have for _thinking_ he liked Tony.

Because Tony had been _so_ sure that Steve didn’t really like him, that Steve’s feelings and actions and reactions had to be about more than him – and that proving that fact would change everything.

And it wasn’t that he thought Steve _disliked_ him, and it wasn’t that Tony thought Steve was lying, and it wasn’t even that Tony thought he was fundamentally unloveable – it wasn’t about any of that.

It was simply that… It made no sense for _Steve_ to like him as much as that. It was one thing to think that Steve wanted him, that he really wasn’t disgusted by him, that Steve might even have developed a crush on him… and, to be honest, all of that was overwhelming enough.

But that was still a long way short of being _that_ desperate to help him… a long way away from _offering up his own blood._ Tony couldn’t think of a rational reason why _anyone_ would want to do that for him. And Steve barely knew him. And what he _had_ seen wasn’t exactly reassuring, and… well, _Steve_ could do a lot better.

So, Tony had taken for granted that whatever had possessed Steve, it wasn’t real.

And that in itself meant it was dangerous and _wrong_ to act on it.

And, surely, if Tony could find a way to explain that to Steve, if he could figure out what this was _really_ about…

And he’d thought of so many things it might really be about.

That, yeah, maybe Steve liked him well enough – and maybe that was enough for someone like Steve to take an interest, to want to help… to maybe get a bit too invested. And, if that was the case, maybe Tony could’ve made him see that he’d gotten carried away, that he’d offered too much of himself – that he couldn’t commit to helping every nice-enough stranger like this, and that was okay.

Or, maybe Steve really thought he was telling the truth – maybe Steve really did feel an overwhelming, entirely irrational draw toward Tony… In which case, there was clearly something very creepy going on. And that would’ve meant Steve _provably_ wasn’t in his right mind, and couldn’t make a decision like this, and Tony would’ve just had to make him understand…

Or, _maybe_ , Steve’s passionate outburst had been about something else entirely. Maybe Steve had developed a crush on the idea of Tony, out of his own loneliness. Maybe he’d mistaken a sense of gratitude and relief over Bucky with a genuine affection. Maybe he was just attracted to Tony, or _that_ sexually frustrated – maybe he was confusing lust with something more meaningful…

Maybe Steve _was_ excited or intrigued by the vampire thing, and didn’t even know it.

Maybe Steve had just felt so sorry for Tony, and so angry on his behalf, that he’d confused it with feeling something _for_ him…

Tony thought he was just waiting to see which one it was.

And then Steve had gone and said that he’d just… got to like him.

That he’d thought Tony was beautiful, and he’d liked something Tony said, and then he’d… just… _got to like him_.

It hadn’t even occurred to Tony that Steve might say that.

For a start, he’d never expected Steve to be as mundanely, relatably honest as that. To say something as human and as understandable and as believable as that.

And, okay, that was quite obviously the story of almost every relationship on earth – but no one actually _said_ that… did they? Tony didn’t have a lot of first hand experience to go on, but every movie and TV show and novel and news story seemed to show people saying ‘ _I knew, the moment I met you’_ and ‘ _I’ve never felt anything like this before’_ or ‘ _there is something more important at stake_ ’. Dramatic, all-or-nothing statements, designed to be narratively satisfying – to be what the other person wanted to hear. And Tony had been prepared for Steve to say any one of those ridiculous things, and a hundred equally irrational things besides.

But he’d not expected Steve to say something that… _sensible._

…He hadn’t expected to really _believe_ whatever Steve told him.

And it had _completely_ blindsided him, he admitted it. It’d thrown his whole plan so far out of whack that he forgot what it even was. All those carefully considered priorities just fell by the wayside, as Tony was overwhelmed by a basic, _human_ rush of feeling-

_What, really?_

_…you just… like me?_

The idea that someone _could_ just like him… in a perfectly ordinary, entirely relatable way…

That someone could just _get to know him_ , and like him for that-

That _Steve_ might actually like him-

And suddenly Tony had just felt like a lovestruck teenager…

And a lovestruck teenager would apparently think it was a good idea to drink Steve’s blood.

That was the only explanation that Tony could think of for his sudden, ludicrous change of heart. That he’d simply lost his head for a second…

_And said we can try this…_

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d actually said _yes._ He’d even not left himself a loophole or a grey area or so much as a few days breathing room-

_Steve is probably arranging it right now-_

And at that exact moment, Tony’s stomach gave a loud and painful rumble – as though it was trying to be spiteful. Reminding him of exactly what he was.

Tony groaned, angrily, and pushed himself up off of the couch with far too much force. Suddenly, he was enraged at the entire world. Furious at the injustice of his very existence. And it was petulant, and it was immature, and it was obviously pointless, because there wasn’t even anything to be mad at.

…But it _wasn’t_ fair.

For _everything_ to be this difficult, and painful, and complicated.

For there to be _nothing_ that he was allowed to have, nothing he could be happy about.

For there to be even _more_ horrors to discover about himself, even _worse_ things to be afraid of-

Because being undead and being dependant on blood and never getting to see the sunlight weren’t enough, apparently.

And being excited that someone liked him was too much for him to ever hope for – far, _far_ too much.

Apparently, it’d been asking too much to just hope he could walk away from this thing. The thing he wanted so badly, that everyone else got to have-

But no, Tony wasn’t even that lucky. He didn’t get to lose the love of his life – _he_ had to worry that he’d be the one to kill him-

That last thought occurred to him as he reached the kitchen area – and suddenly Tony found himself gripping hold of the worktop, just to keep himself upright.

That had been a distant hypothetical, up until now. A vague warning of what could happen if he didn’t fix this thing – something he’d flinched away from, because he’d been so determined to avoid it.

But he’d not fixed this thing, and he couldn’t fix this thing now – Steve was going to call him, and say everything was done, and if Tony hadn’t been able to tell him no before, he was never going to manage it after-

_Oh, God, if I hurt him-_

_I will never hurt him_.

…And Tony had no idea where that had come from.

He’d never felt anything like that before. That impulse was so pure and so powerful and so… _real_ , so different from all the confused babbling his head was usually full of-

It was even in a different voice.

…And it was right.

Tony had no idea how he knew it, or why he didn’t panic of over the strangeness of it, or how he could possibly be so reassured, so quickly…

But he was.

He actually felt a wave of relief roll through him, as he suddenly just… _understood_ -

He _couldn’t_ hurt Steve.

He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt Steve.

He _knew_ that.

And he even knew it didn’t make sense. That, objectively, he couldn’t know that, any more than he understood any part of this debacle. That simply feeling very sure of something wasn’t proof that it was right. Even that it was weird to feel a compulsion like that, to hear an internal voice so clear and distinct from everything else….

Somehow, it didn’t matter.

He was _still_ completely sure of that one fact, this _revelation_ -

He would never be able to watch Steve suffer. He would feel every agony twice as deeply as Steve did, his whole being would recoil from it… his entire body flinched at the very idea. That instinct was as fundamental and as primal as anything he could ever feel – no bloodlust or vampiric loyalty could ever be as basic or as certain as this.

And that was…

God, _so_ much better…

Tony felt lightheaded all over again – but this time it was actually nice. A wash of pleasant, comfortable dizziness as he thought that, maybe, it _was_ going to be okay…

And, yeah, he knew that wasn’t _everything_. That he’d had plenty of anxieties before it ever occurred to him that he might bite Steve, that all those worries were still as real and as important as they’d ever been.

He still had to deal with this overwhelming love for a man he couldn’t possibly keep.

He still had to think about all his vulnerabilities, all those risks – and for Pepper, and Rhodey, not to mention the company and the Avengers and all the people who relied on them…

He was still an undead, inhuman monster, who couldn’t go out in the daytime and had to drink blood

… And who might still want to _bite_ Steve…

_But not if it was hurting him_.

He knew he could never want to bite Steve enough to hurt him – that it would _stop_ him wanting to, if Steve pushed him away.

_If Steve cried, the way I did when Obie-_

God, no. Tony felt sick at the thought. He’d _die_ to stop Steve ever having to feel like that. He could never-

_Of course, if he didn’t push me away-_

Was still a deeply disturbing thought, yes, and clearly Tony still had a lot of ugly issues to work through. Fine.

…But he could never _hurt_ Steve.

And realising that… it was like watching your house collapse into flames, but knowing your family made it out okay. Realising that you could have lost the one thing that really mattered and hadn’t.

For a moment, Tony didn’t care that the rest of his life was going up in smoke.

He didn’t even care that, in reality, this sudden confidence was entirely baseless – and probably as weird and frightening as everything he was running from.

He just knew he felt _better_ … and, Jesus, it’d been a long time since he felt better about anything. It was a reprieve, just when he so badly needed the rest – and he’d take it.

Tony took a minute to settle his weight back onto his feet, letting go of a purely symbolic breath. Somehow, he knew he’d only get a few minutes before his head was just a mass of panicked noise again – so, he calculated quickly.

Drink something.

Go to bed, while his head was still quiet enough that maybe – _maybe_ – he might be able to get some sleep.

Worry about everything else in the morning… or, the evening, as it would be by then.

Fine.

Tony opened the cabinet above the sink, his nose wrinkling as he remembered what an appalling batch of blood this was…

_And I will not make comparisons,_

_And I will not assign any meaning to this feeling_

_And I will not think of the context of this moment, in any way._

_I will just drink this, and go to bed._

…Was all very well, in theory.

Unfortunately, even that turned out to be more difficult than he’d expected. 

The smell hit him before he’d even gotten the vial to his lips… a sharp, rancid smell, like curdled milk. He tried to brace, and took a huge mouthful, thinking it might be easier to get it over and done with as quickly as possible –

And had to spit it out again, immediately.

He just _couldn’t_ swallow that. It was just too sour, too bitter… like it was _off-_

Like it was _wrong._

_I shouldn’t be drinking other people’s blood…_

Tony wasn’t sure if that’d been the same voice or not. It wasn’t nearly as reassuring, this time… in fact, along with the acrid taste still coating his tongue and the gory stain he’d left in the sink, it was enough to literally turn his stomach.

He leant over the basin, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he willed himself not to be sick. Hand shaking, he reached out and turned the tap on full blast, washing the blood away. Trying to focus on the smell of fresh water and the sharp flecks of the spray on his face.

He told himself not to be ridiculous.

That there was no reason he shouldn’t drink this blood – that it couldn’t _possibly_ make it taste worse, even if there had been.

He didn’t even know what Steve’s blood tasted like-

This was just a terrible batch. That’s all it was. That, and the fact that he’d felt sick anyway – he was tired, and hungry and anxious-

And he just couldn’t deal with this right now.

He cast one final glance at the cabinet – and had to flinch away. He knew that being over hungry was probably one of the reasons he felt nauseous, but there was simply no way he could face that. Not yet.

…But maybe he could still sleep.

…That would be a few hours break from all this relentless _thinking._

Maybe if he wasn’t so exhausted and wound up, the blood wouldn’t seem such a chore.

_…Maybe, by then, Steve will have-_

No.

No, no. no.

That was it. He was done with today.

He was going to bed.

Whatever was left of the bloodstain would just have to wait until he woke up.

*

Of course, Tony’s head didn’t stay quiet for long enough for him to make it to his bedroom. By the time he collapsed onto his mattress the endless cycle of worries had started up again – and engaged in active combat with the exhaustion that was beginning to overwhelm him.

In the end, he’d fallen into some sort of shallow compromise, drifting somewhere between awake and asleep. That strange, unsatisfying limbo, in which he was unable to direct his thoughts but still somehow aware of the time passing.

And then, eventually, those thoughts had started to break down into words and sounds and…vague, disjointed concepts…and images…

Somewhere along the line they became oddly self-aware dreams… he almost _knew_ he was dreaming…

He was talking to Steve.

And Tony kept thinking he was in a room that he recognised… the workshop, or his bedroom from when he was a teenager, or his dorm room at MIT… but it seemed to shift in front of his eyes. He kept recognising it as somewhere it obviously wasn’t.

He kept thinking, _it’s okay, Steve is here_ … even while he knew that, clearly, Steve wasn’t here…

He remembered Steve’s voice… Steve talking, almost like he was speaking in Tony’s head…

Disjointed, random things…

And… whole speeches, whole conversations that seemed to happen too fast…

He remembered Steve saying,

_Yes, of course it was horrible what he did to you – because you didn’t want it, and he meant it as an act of violence, you were too young, and he was meant to be your guardian_

_That doesn’t mean it would always be horrible_

_It wouldn’t be wrong, if I wanted it, if you meant it as an act of love_

_If you’re meant to be mine, like this._

He remembered Steve saying,

_Just because some of what he said was true, it doesn’t mean everything he said was true._

_It doesn’t make anything he did right._

_All abusers and terrorists start with something true – and then they twist it and take it out of context and add a whole bunch of lies_

_It doesn’t mean anything, Tony._

He remembered Steve saying,

_Well… what if I don’t want you to do this with other people?_

_I mean… do you still want to do this with other people?_

_Maybe, if it doesn’t feel right with other people… maybe that means we-_

And then, suddenly, Tony was awake – somehow surprised and not at all surprised to find he was alone in his bedroom.

His head swam, briefly, like it was struggling to get up. His eyes burned, like they’d only just realised they were open.

He found himself thinking back to the dream, so sure he’d remember it – it felt so real, and vivid, and recent…

But when he reached for it, it seemed to crumble, like it was made of sand.

_Steve was here…_

_Well, not ‘here’, but…_

_We were talking… about…_

It was either sex, or blood…

And it bothered Tony that he couldn’t tell the difference-

And _then_ his phone rang.

Tony shot it a sceptical look. It struck him as immediately eerie, that it should ring just then.

It didn’t occur to him that it could be anyone else.

And he knew, this was _it_.

…He wasn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ was, exactly.

He had no idea what he was going to say, or what was going to happen – he couldn’t even remember what it was he was so afraid of… or, maybe he hadn’t worked that out yet…

But he just knew that this was going to be something important, something _final_ , something…

Inevitable.

He picked the phone up, and looked at it… and answered it.

What else could he do?

“Hey,” he said, softly. And he heard Steve take a little breath, and he could swear he felt his heart clench.

“Hey,” Steve answered, his voice just a bit tight. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, of course not,” Tony assured. “…It’s never a bad time, really.”

“Oh, well, I uh… said I’d call, when… everything was done,” Steve explained, nervously. “So…”

For a second, Tony was too busy thinking that Steve was adorable to recognise what he was saying. And then it hit him.

“Oh. Wow,” he gasped. “That was fast.”

“Well, I, uh, I know how to take my own blood, and there was an empty Med Lab, so, I figured, you know, I’d take the chance while I had it…” Steve over explained. And somehow Tony found himself smiling.

How did that happen?

“You’re very sweet, you know that?” Tony told him, even though he wasn’t sure he should be saying it.

“Not really,” Steve muttered, shyly – which only made Tony grin wider. “So, um, did you want me to ask Pepper to bring it over? Or, I mean, I’m happy to… I can bring it over any time.”

And Tony found himself just having to respond to each question as it came, focusing on whatever thoughts happened to crop up.

He didn’t want Pepper to know.

He wanted to see Steve again.

Was as far as he got with question one.

“Well, I mean, if you’re sure you don’t mind…” he replied, quietly. Thinking of how to say that he wanted to keep this thing under wraps, without it sounding offensive-

“No, that’s fine,” Steve agreed, eagerly. “I mean… If it’s _not_ a bad time right now, I can bring it over.”

“Oh, now?” Tony blinked.

That was too soon.

But he _had_ already said he wasn’t busy, so how could he put this off?

And… why bother putting it off anyway, when it was so obviously going to happen?

…when he was hungry _now_ -

“Or, I mean, I can come tonight,” Steve rescued him. “Sorry, I know you always said night time was better…”

Okay, that was a little bit of breathing room at least… Tony had no idea how much, because he had no idea what time it was – but that was better than _now_.

…And it couldn’t possibly be _that_ far off.

And it was heartbreakingly endearing, for Steve to apologise for not thinking of that-

Was as much as Tony had time to think, before he had to answer question two.

“Would…uh, would that be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve beamed. Tony could so clearly imagine his face; he could _hear_ the smile in his voice. “So, I’ll come over at the usual time?”

_I can’t believe you actually like me._

_I can’t believe I am actually going to drink your blood._

_I can’t wait to see you again._

_…I have to answer you._

“Yeah, um, okay,” he nodded, and then struggled to add, “thank you, for this.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Steve answered. And then there was an awkward pause, half a second two long, before Tony hung up.

Tony gave his phone a weary glare before he tossed it aside. Then he let his head fall into his hands.

He wondered… _had_ he called Steve to say no, this morning? Had he been lying to himself, this whole time? Was there ever really any chance of him resisting a temptation like this…?

Well, he’d given up on that pretence now, at least.

Steve _was_ going to be here in a few hours, and Tony _was_ going to take his blood… and drink it. So, he could at least forgo all that back and forth about whether he should try to explain to Steve, or pour the blood away, or any other bullshit like that.

Which was a relief, at least.

As for everything else…

“JARVIS, what time is it?” he groaned.

“5.38pm, sir,” JARVIS responded cheerfully. And, immediately, Tony rushed to calculate…

Four hours, twenty-two minutes.

Well, that was…

_Too soon_

_Too far away_

That was… exciting. And disturbing. And terrifying. And confusing.

…Mostly exciting, if he was honest.

*

Steve had sat in the car, parked outside Tony’s house, for about twenty minutes before he went in.

Wondering if it was weird – rude, even – to turn up that far ahead of schedule.

Wondering if JARVIS would’ve told Tony when he arrived… If Tony was inside, wondering why Steve was being weird and rude and just staying in the car…

Occasionally glancing at the carry case on the seat beside him. Like he was expecting it to move, or something.

Steve had spent most of that time thinking through the familiar cycles. Anxieties and fantasies that he’d run through so many times, it was like he’d worn grooves in his head – which just made it easier for every train of thought to run that same way.

Trying to plan things he could say to Tony, ways he could respond to all the things that Tony might possibly ask.

Flinching away from a hundred worst case scenarios. Imagining all the ways he could possibly fuck this up, and just how bad that could potentially be…

Daydreaming about this actually helping, Tony feeling better because of it…

_Tony liking it-_

And that was one of the places his thinking kept threatening to derail. Those sharp turns and sudden stops, where he could so easily have just skipped into thinking something completely new…

And impossible to direct or predict or stop…

Something dangerous.

Eventually, he made it to 9.56pm. Close enough. As he crossed the drive to the main entrance, he couldn’t help noticing how different it felt, without Bucky there to reassure him, or tease him – or, usually, both. It made Steve feel oddly exposed. Not so much because he was alone, but because this was all so different to what he was used to. It had the strange effect of making everything look slightly different. Making Steve overthink every trivial part of this – even getting into the damn house.

And it made him think… how many times he’d wished he could be here on his own.

How many daydreams he had, that could only happen if it was just the two of them.

How much Steve still wanted to kiss him. How much he wanted to remember that night, and relive every inch of Tony’s skin, and-

Even that seemed a bit… close, now.

Like if he let himself remember, if he let himself drift down that particular path… he might end up somewhere unexpected. Somewhere there was no turning back from.

And, anyway, the door had opened by then.

He was here now.

He was actually doing this thing.

Tony was right there, waiting, when Steve stepped out of the elevator. And Tony looked right at him, and _smiled_ … and Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

This had never happened before.

There had always been Bucky to prioritise, or put at ease, or be polite in front of.

There had always been a procedure to prepare, or the hum or medical equipment, already booted up and waiting impatiently.

Steve wouldn’t have been able to get as lost in this moment, if Bucky had been standing next to him.

And Tony would never have looked at Steve like that, if Bucky had been there. It was just too…

_Personal._

_Intimate._

Steve felt the blood rush to his face. He glanced down shyly, gesturing subtly with the case as he spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Tony smiled – and took a step closer. Steve looked up in time to see Tony glance down at the carry case, his arm lifting almost hesitantly towards it. Steve took a sharp breath, and willed his hand not to shake as he held it up for Tony to take.

Steve felt an electric shock, as his fingers brushed softly over Tony’s.

A dip in his stomach, like you feel at the crest of a rollercoaster, as he felt Tony take the weight of the case.

And then Tony was standing right there.

Just a bit too close.

Just a bit too far away.

Holding five bags of Steve’s blood…

And then his eyes snapped up to meet Steve’s, wide and dark and flecked with the reflected silver of the workshop lights. Steve’s body tensed inward, his breath catching in his chest… his chin tilting up, just slightly, without him having to think about it.

Tony dropped his gaze, and Steve could _feel_ Tony’s eyes running over his throat.

Steve swallowed, hard.

He did it on purpose.

And he heard Tony sigh, so very softly

The air around them seemed to thicken. Time slowed and expanded, as Tony let his eyes run lower, over Steve’s shoulders, and chest-

And then hesitated.

Tony’s brow creased, first confused, then warmly amused, before he looked back at Steve’s face again. And, out of nowhere, Steve remembered the little piece of paper that was sitting in his top pocket – or, rather, he remembered the awkward and prolonged debate he’d had with himself about whether to bother bringing it.

And it had been such a regular, run of the mill dilemma – wanting to be thoughtful, and prepared, versus not wanting to come over as needy or a total hick. He’d decided against it, actually. At the last minute, he’d decided it was over the top.

Steve felt self-conscious now that he knew Tony had seen it, remembering the embarrassment he’d associated with it earlier.

It wasn’t so much that it brought Steve to his senses, but it vaguely reminded him what ‘his senses’ were. That a whole world existed outside of the reality of this moment, that there were simple worries and human reactions he’d had about things, at one point.

He blushed deeper, and pulled the note out of his pocket.

“They’re still trying to sell you on the ol’ Talko then?” Tony asked, warmly, as Steve unfolded the paper.

“Hm?” Steve frowned – and then realised that he’d written these notes on the back of a Talleroy Communications Flyer. A little smile escaped him, simply because he liked that Tony had remembered it. “Oh, yeah, they came back. I think they might even be coming back again…”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, entirely sincerely. “Would you like me to have them all killed?”

“Oh, no,” Steve shook his head. “Not all of them – just the marketing guy would be fine.”

Tony giggled, his whole face lighting up, like it always did when he laughed…and Steve felt a shiver run up his neck.

And then Tony looked back at the note, a questioning look in his eyes, _well_?

“Oh, um, I don’t actually think you need any of this,” Steve muttered, holding it out to him, “But, I thought, you know, just in case…”

And he tried not to hold his breath as Tony took it, and flipped it over, and smiled again.

It was only a few notes about the blood. When it was taken. The readings from the little heart monitor. A few details about the serum and measurable effects it had on Steve’s biology, all of which he knew by heart, by now.

Just a list of dry, numeric facts… and yet Steve felt like he was watching Tony read a love letter.

Arg. He knew he shouldn’t have bothered with this. That Tony would’ve asked for these details, if they’d mattered at all-

“Thank you,” Tony said, folding the note up _very_ carefully, and slipping it into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. “I, uh, probably should’ve thought to ask for some of that, actually. Sorry – this is all kind of new on me…”

“Oh, we used to do this all the time in the forties,” came out straighter that Steve had intended, purely because he was nervous – but that only seemed to make Tony laugh more.

“There’s so much I don’t know about you,” he grinned. A throw away comment, a bookend to Steve’s joke – but still, Steve felt compelled to answer it,

“Well, if there’s anything you want to know…”

And he saw Tony’s eyes flash, startled or intrigued, he couldn’t tell. And he had a sudden stab of panic that he’d said something wrong, that he’d ruined something.

“Well, I’ll call you,” Tony answered, sincerely. “Whatever happens with… this.”

Steve tried to let go of that breath as subtly as he could. Of course, there was a very loud part of his brain still demanding that he hold onto this moment. The part of him that was trying to come up with _anything_ he could say, rather than have to leave.

…And the part of him that still wanted to reach out and grab Tony.

…Or fall to his knees in front of him.

The part of him that just wanted so much to _kiss_ him-

But all of that was overwhelmed by the far greater, far deeper fear of getting this wrong.

Ultimately, not doing anything seemed less risky than anything he could do. And, truthfully, he was surprised to have made it this far without embarrassing himself or offending Tony – there was a part of him that was eager to get out while he was ahead.

So, after a moment’s panicked hesitation, he allowed that fear to narrowly win the conflict. He gave a little smile, and a nod, and stepped back towards the elevator.

“So, I’ll see you, then…” he managed, awkwardly, as the doors slid open. And Tony beamed so naturally when he answered him,

“I promise.”

Steve was just glad he made it until the doors closed before his legs gave out completely, and he was forced to fall back against the wall to steady himself.

Well.

At least that went okay.

…Didn’t it?

*

Tony had so nearly called out after him.

The part of him that had missed Steve so much – he hadn’t even realised how much, until he saw him again… but oh, to have just had a few more minutes with him, to have been able to talk to him for a little bit longer…

And the part of Tony that that still _wanted_ Steve. That low growl that had been pushed into the background by all these other neurosis and panics… but had never gone away. The part of him that had wanted to call Steve back just so that he could touch him.

And the part of Tony that always felt _better_ whenever Steve was there. The frantic, nervous part of him that was soothed by Steve’s presence. Just that.

…And then there was that strange, new part of him. The little voice that whispered, _Steve should be here_. The part of Tony that felt wrong, doing _this_ without him.

But then, _that_ was the reason Tony hadn’t called out to Steve in the end – because the idea of doing this in front of him felt every bit as wrong.

There was a very basic, instinctive part of Tony that recoiled from the idea of Steve ever watching him drink – that could barely comprehend the additional horror of it actually being _Steve’s blood-_

And a separate, primal instinct that was thoroughly confused by Steve not being here. A low, aching emptiness…

Tony looked down at the case, still swaying innocently in his hand. Suddenly, it felt so much heavier…

He walked over to the nearest work bench and lifted the case onto it. He flicked both of the clasps open with a sharp, unified crack. He felt a rush of heat run up his spine as he finally opened it-

And a sudden, plunging hunger when he saw what was inside.

His stomach twisted painfully. His mouth watered. His vision seemed to cloud at the edges and focus on the colour in front of him.

…It was beautiful.

And it didn’t even seem weird to Tony that he should think that. It was just… entirely different to the dull, muddy burgundy he was so used to seeing. It was such a pure, vital colour. A thick swirl of deep, molten red, like the centre of a precious stone.

Tony’s hand reached out for one of the bags – jolting briefly at the shock, as he felt it moving under his palm.

He could swear it felt warm…

Tony got most of his donations under the pretence of scientific research rather than medical transfusions, so he was used to seeing it racked up in vials. He wasn’t used to it yielding under his hands like this, being able to watch it surge and swell as he held it tighter…

It felt fitting, somehow.

Closer to how things _should_ have been…

And he thought… he should really get a mug, or a glass, or something…

But only in response to a wordless idea that had already gripped him. Something he was _already_ going to do.

He squeezed the bag, just hard enough that it bulged. And he thought of Steve…

Steve’s arms…

The exact shape of them, that warm, fluid strength that rolled under Steve’s skin…

And Tony brought the bag to his lips, letting his teeth rest on the surface for just a second… letting himself feel Steve’s blood waiting there for him…

And then he bit down, _gently_ … Because he would be gentle, if Steve-

And then the first trickle of blood hit the tip of Tony’s tongue-

And _Sweet Jesus Fuck._

Tony was immediately overwhelmed by an animal desperation for more of that beautiful taste. Rich and salty and _almost_ sweet, and a completely different texture to anything he’d ever drunk before. He bit down before he could stop himself, and a sudden burst of it filled his mouth. A low, feral moan escaped him, from deep in his chest, his fingers digging harder into the bag. He swallowed in sharp, almost painful gulps-

God, he was _starving._

And it _felt_ so good to drink like this. Tony could feel that ache inside him easing, his whole body relaxing as that heat curled though him.

And then he got to draining the last drops, his hand closing into a fist as he swallowed that final mouthful. And then he finally let the bag drop to his side, his head falling heavily in front of him

…And the world just seemed to roll from under him-

Tony dropped to his knees to save himself from collapsing flat out onto his back. He felt like he was weightless, like he was floating away from the ground, away from himself. His vision was blotted with stars, his skin was filmed in sweat, his tongue was still coated with that perfect, _beautiful_ taste.

He felt strong.

He felt… _better._

Nothing hurt, nothing ached, nothing felt weary or empty or cold-

Everything was brighter.

More real, more _there_.

And then Tony felt his body curling in on itself, his fingernails scratching against the floor-

He wanted _Steve._

Steve was supposed to be here. Tony was _meant_ to-

But Steve wasn’t here, so Tony had no choice but to throw his arms around himself, and let this feeling wash through him.

This deep satisfaction.

This heady physical bliss.

This sudden surge of reassurance, this _relief_

This overwhelming, all-consuming need.

“Sir?” JARVIS enquired, carefully.

“Yes,” Tony panted. His voice felt different. Everything felt _different-_

“Are you in need of assistance, sir?” JARVIS asked more softly. But Tony just shook his head.

“No, I’m okay,” he managed, over gasps and swallows.

“I’m okay now.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ongoing apologies for delays, and to anyone whose comment I haven't gotten around to yet - and continued thanks to everyone that is reading, and feeding back. Honestly, this fic is life giving to me at the moment, and the response has meant so much, so thank you!  
> Advanced warning, this chapter starts with a Steve/Bucky sex scene, in a reasonable amount of detail - if that's not what you're here for, and you'd prefer to skip it, all you really need to know if that Bucky is a good bro. Any questions, as ever, please feel free to contact me!  
> Hope you enjoy :-)

There were times when Steve was especially pleased that he had a friend like Bucky.

In the middle of battle, when he could throw Bucky the briefest glance and know for sure that he’d understood exactly what it meant.

On those melancholy days, when Steve couldn’t work out _what_ was wrong, and yet Bucky always knew exactly how to cheer him up.

And in those hot, painful moments, when Steve was so overcome with physical need that he couldn’t think straight – and he knew that Bucky wouldn’t ask any questions.

Steve had never been as thankful for that particular aspect of their friendship as he was when he got back from Tony’s that night.

He’d gone straight to Bucky’s room, and not even bothered to say ‘hi’ when Bucky answered the door. Steve just grabbed him by the arms, and kissed him as desperately as he ever had – and Bucky, bless his soul, had caught on immediately. He didn’t just _let_ Steve kiss him. Bucky had kissed him back every bit as hungrily, grabbing him almost violently and pulling him into the room.

And Steve knew, even then, that this would be… different, to how it usually was.

That he wasn’t here because of the familiar, aching frustration. That this desperate, searing need wasn’t just _more_ than anything he’d ever felt…

This was _new_.

This incredible excess of adrenaline, that made his lungs burn and his muscles tense to the point of genuine pain. This alien feeling of having no control whatsoever over his own thoughts, the seemingly random surges of pure emotion. That unplaceable _emptiness_. That desperation to call out to Tony, as immediate and panicked and confused as it was when Tony was actually standing there.

And Steve didn’t even know if it was anything to do with sex, and he didn’t know if it had anything to do with the serum – although, he had to guess the serum wasn’t _helping_ …

The point was, he already knew that fucking Bucky wasn’t going to make this go away-

But Jesus Christ it would be _something_.

Steve dragged Bucky on top of him as he fell onto the bed, clawing Bucky’s t-shirt over his head so roughly that he stretched the fabric. He saw Bucky grin, briefly, as he rushed to meet Steve’s pace, ripping Steve’s shirt off and unfastening his jeans.

“You want to fuck me?” Bucky whispered efficiently, almost perfunctorily – because that was how it usually went. Whoever got wound up would be the person to go on top, just because it was simpler that way. _Quicker_. If nothing else, it was easier to follow a pattern, to do what they always did because that meant they didn’t have to think about what they were doing. Moments like this were always about meeting a specific need, easing a particular pain. Whatever got it done.

But… it was a different need this time…

And…

“No, I want you to fuck me,” Steve answered, his voice rough and breathless.

Bucky’s eyes widened in an amused sort of intrigue – but he didn’t question it. Of course he didn’t. He just smiled, _fair enough_ , and carried on tearing Steve’s jeans down over his legs-

And then he grabbed Steve by the shoulders, and threw him onto his front.

Which wasn’t what they usually did, either.

It was strangely jarring… They _always_ fell into the same routine, on nights like this. The same running order, the same positions, hitting all the same beats every single time. Having Bucky do something else conflicted with a subconscious expectation, a corporal assumption. Like walking into somewhere very familiar, and finding that first step just wasn’t there anymore…

But…

Yes, actually.

This was better.

And Steve wasn’t sure _why_ it was better… he had the odd feeling that he wouldn’t much like the answer, or himself, if he did work it out…

But, fuck it, this was good-

This would do.

Steve didn’t think about it. He tried not to think about anything. He just pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, parting his legs and _trying_ to relax his body. Letting Bucky prepare him with sharp, efficient movements, silently willing him to go faster – not saying anything.

Not trusting what he might say, if he let himself speak at all.

And then he felt Bucky pull him into position, pausing just long enough to whisper,

“Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, go, Jesus,” Steve hissed, already trying to rock back-

And then Bucky pushed into him in one swift, smooth motion, tearing through one layer of that tension, forcing the air up out of his lungs. For a brief second, Steve’s mind went blank, all of his faculties focused on just _feeling_ this-

And then he thought of Tony.

He hadn’t meant to. Some part of him managed to feel bad for it, even now. It was one thing to go to Bucky, as a friend, to satisfy a physical need that they both understood. But fucking Bucky while he thought of someone else – _because_ he wanted someone else – immediately struck Steve as being a different thing entirely. Disrespectful, or something-

But he just couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t _not_ think about Tony.

Steve would’ve been thinking about Tony, and remembering Tony, and _wanting_ Tony, whatever he was doing.

And maybe that meant he should stop this, but Jesus Christ he just _needed-_

And then Bucky slammed into him again, and oh, that was good-

And he thought of Tony again – and _that_ was good-

Illicit, and guilty, and still so good.

And then he felt Bucky’s hands caress roughly over his hips, pulling Steve into him again, and again, setting that deep, pounding rhythm that _was_ familiar to nights like this-

And he thought of Tony’s hands.

Steve remembered Tony’s hands, stroking over his chest, clawing at his back

He imagined Tony’s hands, pushing him down, tearing his clothes off, gripping Steve’s hips while he fucked him, just like this.

Oh, God, Tony might be drinking his blood _right now_ -

Then Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, pulling him up onto his knees, holding Steve’s back against his chest and pushing even deeper into him. A sharp, startled cry fell over Steve’s lips, his hands clawing fruitlessly for something to grab hold of.

And he remembered Tony smiling at him, as the elevator doors closed.

He thought of stepping out of that elevator instead, grabbing Tony with both hands and pulling him hard against his chest.

He thought of Tony’s fingernails digging into his skin-

Harder,

Hard enough to draw blood-

And then Bucky dropped his head, and buried his face against Steve’s neck-

And then the dull press of his teeth against Steve’s shoulder-

And, fuck, the _shock_ of it-

Steve came so hard and so suddenly that it was actually painful, a blistering, visceral sensation that ripped right through the middle of him. He could hear himself screaming – and it was purely luck that it wasn’t Tony’s name.

That it wasn’t, _please bite me Tony, please_.

Actually, it wasn’t anything at all. Just a high-pitched noise that broke into a low, anguished groan as his climax jerked through him.

And then it was like he’d missed a second, and he found himself panting and lightheaded and weak, his limbs hanging as heavy, barely tethered parts, his weight resting gracelessly against Bucky’s chest. Bucky still had one arm across Steve’s stomach, saving him from falling forward… holding still, now. Waiting for Steve to catch his breath.

Steve didn’t even know if Bucky had come.

And, oh, suddenly he felt very guilty…

“S’okay,” Bucky murmured, his voice warm and slow, letting his head fall onto the back of Steve’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathed. He heard Bucky hum a good-natured laugh into his hair.

“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky assured him, genuinely. “Told you, I’m always here if you need me,”

“It’s different,” Steve whispered.

“So, I’m also here for you when it’s different,” Bucky smiled, casually. “I’m pretty sure that’s what ‘always’ means, anyway.”

Steve felt an inch of relief, up through his ribs. He was _so_ lucky to have Bucky. To have met him in the first place, to have found him again – to have him _now_ , of all times.

That really did make Steve feel just a bit better.

That was something.

Bucky pulled away from him, putting one hand firmly against Steve’s back and guiding him to lie down on the bed. Steve felt the world carry on rolling backwards, the ceiling swaying in front of his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Bucky standing up, and the scraping sound of the closet door opening-

And then the sudden sensation of air against his skin, and the soft weight of fabric settling against his chest.

He glanced up to find the bathrobe that Bucky had just thrown over him, and he smiled.

“Thank you,” he muttered, pulling it over himself like a blanket. Telling himself that he’d put it on just as soon as the room stopped spinning. In the meantime, he let his eyes slip shut, and relaxed his shoulders, and let _some_ of that tension drain out of him…

He did feel a bit better for this, too.

It wasn’t everything. There were still as many anxieties about the situation as there had ever been, and that emptiness was still there, and Steve still felt unnervingly emotional, right now… But it had done something for that physical desperation, used up some of that adrenaline.

…Actually, come to think of it, he was _exhausted_.

“Look Steve, I know you’re one of those people that need space with things,” Bucky sighed, dragging Steve halfway out of his haze. When he opened his eyes again the room was too bright. It took him a second to focus on Bucky, now sitting in his jeans in the wicker chair at the end of the bed.

“Hm?” Steve frowned, struggling to wake himself up.

“I’ve known you long enough to know when not to push it,” Bucky clarified, with a soft smile. “But, you know – that means I also have to know when it _is_ time to push it, too.”

Steve huffed out a weary little groan. He hadn’t meant to – but he was just _so_ tired. He literally couldn’t remember the last time he slept, and he felt like his head had run a million miles since yesterday, and he’d given two and a half litres of blood this morning.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to push it now,” Bucky assured him, like he could read Steve’s mind. “I’m just giving you some advance warning here. I know you like to get your own head right with things first, sometimes. I know you’re not one of those people who _likes_ to talk about themselves. And sometimes it’s harder to explain the problem to other people than it is to just deal with it yourself – I get all that. But, just so you know, I’m not just going to sit here while you get more and more worked up, and act weirder and weirder, and not say anything. You are getting to the stage where ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ won’t fly, my friend.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. He’d known that anyway, even before this little interlude… to be honest, he’d been surprised that Bucky had let him get away with it for this long. And, up until tonight, that had been yet another item on his increasingly hysterical list of things he really couldn’t deal with…

But it didn’t seem quite that objectionable an idea, right now.

Tedious and frustrating and uncomfortable, probably… but doable.

Well, as long as he didn’t have to do it _now_.

“You can sleep here, you know,” Bucky commented lightly. Which was probably an odd thing for him to say, because Steve was always falling asleep in Bucky’s room – especially on nights like this.

And even stranger was Steve’s immediate instinct that… no, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep next to someone _else_ tonight. It was perverse enough that he was going to fall asleep alone. And it wasn’t even about fidelity or trust or honour – otherwise, Steve wouldn’t have come here in the first place. It was a very specific instinct, something that wasn’t at all offended that Steve had fucked someone else… but simply couldn’t have him fall asleep next to them.

Not tonight.

…It was going to be _really_ hard to explain all this, when Bucky did eventually make him.

“Thanks,” he smiled, “But I think I want my own bed. For, maybe, ten hours…” Oh, it was hard to sit up, to even _think_ about getting dressed.

“Well, I _am_ going to ask what’s going on with you, when you wake up,” Bucky warned him again, “So, I dunno, you might want to make it twelve.”

Steve scoffed another drowsy laugh, pulling his jeans up over his hips. And then, as he shrugged into his t-shirt, he really thought about what Bucky was saying…

About Bucky, in general.

He let go of a soft breath, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt.

“I _am_ sorry Buck,” he sighed. “You’re right, I have been completely in my own head for weeks-”

“That isn’t what I said-”

“Well, I _have_ , and I know I’ve been… ignoring everything, and… selfish.” Steve recognised, as he said it. And Bucky rolled his eyes, but Steve pressed on with it. “I know a lot’s going on with you right now, and you probably feel like I haven’t even noticed. And I know I’m asking for a lot, and not even telling you what it’s about. And… I just want you to know, whatever… _this_ ends up being… It’s not _more_ important than you are.”

He was saying it for himself as much as for Bucky. Making sure that caveat got laid down with the foundations of this thing. Because Steve wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Tony, or what it meant… But, if he was going to start working it out, then he might as well start here.

And he was fast realising that he _had_ to start working this out. That this just ‘something that had happened’, or ‘a lot that was going on, right now’. This wasn’t something he was going to get over or get used to. Something was _different_ , now. _He_ was different, now.

And whatever that meant, it couldn’t mean abandoning Bucky, or using Bucky, or always putting Bucky second.

Steve would sacrifice his _own_ happiness – his own life – for Tony. Easy. Gladly. Done.

And he knew there were times when Tony would have to be his priority… That certain things that were _already_ a priority, before he even knew what they were.

And he was slowly coming to terms with the idea that his entire existence had changed, in ways he couldn’t even process yet…

But not this. Never this.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky announced theatrically, leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm over his face. “I _really_ didn’t want to go here, but you have forced my hand. You have forced this upon us both, and I hope you’re happy.” And then he sat forward again, resting his weight on his knees and fixing Steve with a serious look. “I’m going to have to _actually_ be sincere now.”

Steve went to carry on the joke; he almost winced and apologised and pretend-begged him not to. But then he registered the earnest expression that had suddenly appeared on Bucky’s face, and he stilled.

“I know that to everyone else it’s been like, seventy years – but, for you, it’s been, what, three years since you met Erskine?” Bucky asked, hypothetically. “And, in that time, you’ve been through a life changing medical experiment, you’ve been to war, you’ve had a near death experience – well, more than one. You’ve lost everyone you ever knew, you’ve woken up in a weird, alien world – and then found out that _that_ world was trying to fuck you, and taken that on too. You took on the whole of Hydra, and won, and then you took on the political elite, and won, and in all that time your whole focus has been building this team and keeping the world safe – and me.”

And he dropped his eyes for a second, almost shyly. When he looked up again there was a hint of sadness there.

“I know what you risked, to help me. I know what you went through.”

“Bucky-”

“Shut up Steve, I have the talking stick right now,” Bucky warned him, playfully, and waited for Steve to pinch his lips together before he carried on. “I _know_ what you did, to save me. What you’ve been doing, all this time. Don’t think for a second that you’ve ever once let me down, because you haven’t. Not even after everything you’ve been through. Even now, with _whatever_ this is, there you are at every appointment and still feeling bad for not caring enough…” He shook his head affectionately; _I don’t know what I’m going to do with you_. “And, anyway, I’d tell you flat out if I thought you were being an ass, and I’d tell you straight away.”

Steve smiled at that. _That_ was probably true, actually…

“And the _only_ problems I have with you right now are the same damn problems I’ve had since we were eight years old,” Bucky groaned, affectionately. “You _always_ make everything as hard for yourself as you possibly can, and you _always_ think you have to do it on your own.”

“…You said we could leave this until tomorrow,” Steve answered, weakly. Trying not to grin, in spite of everything.

“And we can,” Bucky replied, brightly. “All I’m saying is, _when_ I pin you down and make you tell me what the hell is up with you, it’s not because I feel left out. And it’s not because I feel taken for granted, and it’s really not because I think you owe me an explanation. It’s just because I’m not going to stand here and watch you drown.”

Steve let himself smile, then.

He knew that most people wouldn’t understand the relationship he had with Bucky. That they’d want to know, _if you like him so much, and you have sex with him, then why isn’t he your boyfriend?_ Steve saw the casual assumptions that the world made about these things. He could feel in all the careless word choices and default images. Like being Bucky’s boyfriend would’ve been the ultimate in relationship status – like the only reason Steve wouldn’t claim that label was if some criteria wasn’t being met. He just knew, no one would think twice about the phrasing, _have you two ever been more than friends?_

…That idiom would always baffle him.

… _More_ than friends.

And it was moments like these that reminded Steve of how very much he loved Bucky – and exactly _how_ he loved Bucky, and just how important that was. It was every bit as much as he loved Tony… just in an entirely different way.

Tony had filled an emptiness in Steve that Bucky could never reach. There was a part of Steve that already belonged to Tony, a part of him that Bucky could never get to.

But there was a part of Steve that only Bucky would ever know – and, if anything ever happened to him, it would leave a void in Steve that even Tony could never fill.

“And, on that bombshell, you should probably go to bed,” Bucky told him. “And get rested up, so that I can grill you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Steve grinned, and struggled to his feet. He waited until he was at the door to add, softly, “thank you.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes again.

*

Twelve hours later, and Tony had never been more awake.

He’d never felt more _alive_ than he had that night-

He’d never felt as _much_ of anything.

He’d been excited and terrified and elated and devastated and desperate and calm – sometimes all in the same minute.

He felt every sensation more keenly, he saw everything in more detail, he could hear entirely new layers of sound echoing in the building around him. His whole body seemed to burn with a sheer abundance of everything, an energy that was created faster than he could consume it.

By the time the sun came up, Tony had paced a hundred miles. He’d tidied his workshop and reorganised his tools and cleaned the kitchen, barely aware he was even doing it. Just looking for something to do with his body, while his mind ran endless laps.

But it wasn’t the same dreary routes he’d trudged along on so many other sleepless nights. It wasn’t the obvious anxieties, the topics he might’ve expected to fixate on right now.

In those first few hours, Tony’s mind had broken free of him entirely. It ran wild, throwing up unfamiliar points as it raced into unexplored territory.

He thought about The Avengers, the politics and the philosophy and the practicalities of them, a hundred different ways they might evolve and thousand new ideas he could explore on their behalf.

He thought about his life. He just let all these unrestricted thoughts occur to him – what he really thought and why things were this way and what he could actually do about it…

He thought about Obie. Things he wouldn’t have _let_ occur to him before… Exactly _why_ he hated Obie, and all the different ways Obie had screwed him over, and all the arguments Tony might’ve made…

He thought about the body armour, and all the ways he could improve it, and all the _other_ things he could make it do.

He thought about the company.

He thought about his dad.

He thought about renewable energy and feminism and the neurological basis for bias.

He thought about what it really meant to be a vampire.

He thought about whether there really was a God.

And he thought about Steve.

He imagined a hundred hypothetical futures they could possibly share. He’d panicked about every way he could potentially hurt Steve, and daydreamed about every way he could potentially please him, he’d been desperately sad to think of all the things they could never have, and overwhelmingly excited to think of everything that, maybe, they _could_ …

He lost countless minutes just picturing Steve’s face.

He made endless lists; things he loved about Steve, things he could do to make Steve happy, things he would do to keep Steve safe.

He fell into breathless fantasies, remembering that night, imagining the things they _could_ do…

_Oh God, he actually likes me._

And then, somewhere in the middle of the morning, something had slowed. Or… _mellowed_ , maybe. That excess of energy had finally burned itself out in a natural, satisfying sort of a way… And Tony had started to feel his mind relax… and… _expand_ …

His mood swings started to ease and even out, eventually settling into a warm, comfortable contentment.

His thoughts had decelerated and started to drift.

His body came to a gentle, throbbing stop around him.

At around noon it occurred to him, casually, that he felt _high_ …

At which point, he’d let himself flop out on the couch, and then spent maybe half an hour just appreciating what it was to lie down on soft fabric, and feel the forces of gravity supporting his limbs.

And then, when his mind started to wander, he just let it.

Ever since that night with Steve, Tony had been so confused and conflicted and constricted. It had always seemed like there was so much context, so much worrying and repenting to do…

But now, it was like he was just cut free of _all_ of that stuff.

Now, Tony _could_ simply indulge in the memory of Steve pushing into him… his perfect body, tense with need and sheened with sweat…

Tony could picture Steve’s beautiful lips… and remember the feeling of them against his mouth…and his chest… and his cock…

He could imagine all the different things he could do for Steve… all the ways he could make him feel good…

He even imagined biting him.

He didn’t even notice.

Tony just let that fantasy drift through his mind, along with everything else… Just one voice in that ever-growing chorus…

_Steve_.

God, he wanted Steve.

He wanted every part of Steve – _any_ part of him.

Tony ached to touch him, to taste him, to hold him, to fuck him, to bite him.

 _Steve should be here_.

And the only reason that wasn’t unbearable was that Tony was simply too blissed out to be beaten by anything, by then.

What Steve had already given him was powerful enough to overcome everything – even the absence of Steve.

At least for now.

“Sir? Ms Potts to see you.” JARVIS told him, interrupting another aimless daydream. Tony blinked… and smiled.

“Yeah, let her in,” he announced cheerfully, pushing himself up off the couch. God, everything was just so much _easier_ now, like there was less gravity or something…

Tony had never really recognised that permanent grinding ache in his shoulders, until it went away…

And then Pepper strolled into the workshop, already scrolling through the items on her tablet computer.

“Afternoon,” she greeted him, her tone professional and vaguely distracted. And then she glanced up at Tony.

And she paused.

“You look well,” she observed, in an entirely different voice – narrowing her eyes at him, curiously. Tony’s smile broke into a broad grin, which he tried unsuccessfully to bite back.

“I should be offended,” he replied. “Don’t I always look well?”

“No,” Pepper answered bluntly – and Tony laughed. And then, before he could attempt to push them away from the subject, she commented, “in fact, the last time I saw you, you were borderline catatonic.”

…Ah yes. Monday evening. Tony _kind of_ remembered Monday evening… Pepper trying desperately to get his attention, while he panicked about ‘saying goodbye’ to Steve the following night.

He genuinely couldn’t remember what she’d even come over to talk to him about. He just remembered that it wasn’t about the Avengers… He’d made sure of that, before he allowed his mind to wander…

Probably about the company, or something…

“Yeah, Monday was not a good day,” Tony conceded, with a self-conscious wince. “And I’m sorry, by the way.”

“And today _is_ a good day?” Pepper asked, knowingly.

“Today is a very good day,” Tony beamed. “And if there _was_ anything you actually needed my input on, on Monday, you might want to ask me again now-”

“Oh, not really,” Pepper breezed – stubbornly refusing to be distracted from the topic of Tony’s current good health. “That was just the weekly business report-”

“And today is the Avengers report.”

“…Yes, like every Thursday,” she answered, in that secretary-voice she only ever used to mock him. “So-”

“Are they okay?” Tony cut her off. She frowned, mildly confused.

“The Avengers? Yeah, they’re fine. A few routine meetings, all went as expected – no international crimes or life threatening missions, this week,” she assured him, sounding amused. And then, oh so smoothly, she added. “I should ask _you_ , really – I think the project you’re working on with Rogers and Barnes is the most important thing on the Avengers agenda, at present.”

And Tony actually giggled.

Pepper had always been better at getting information out of him than Rhodey was – probably because she rarely outright asked him to talk about things. She was always sneakier than that. She gathered her information indirectly and subtly, with seemingly unrelated enquires and little, innocent sounding questions when he was only half listening… Tony knew she had collected all sorts of details about Steve over the course of the last few weeks, despite his best intentions.

And he had thought, vaguely, that he’d have to make a real effort to avoid the topic, when he next saw her. That he didn’t want her to know about the… latest development, with Steve, so it was probably best to avoid talking about him at all…

And he’d thought that he was unlikely to get away with it for long-

But Tony really couldn’t believe how efficiently she’d got the better of him.

“Meh, I already know all about that project,” Tony waved the enquiry aside…

Honestly, mainly, for the fun of it.

He already knew Pepper would leave with any information she wanted – she always did, and half the time he didn’t even know it.

And, truthfully, Tony didn’t _care_.

He knew he probably should… But, right now at least, Tony just couldn’t muster any anxiety from anywhere. It was like being drunk. He had this innate sense of security and entitlement and confidence – _nothing_ felt like a big deal, at the moment.

He carried on with his original plan like he was playing along with it – because, hey, what else was he going to do?

“Well, there’s not much else of interest,” Pepper told him, nonchalantly. “I understand that the recon team are still gathering intel on that black-market arms ring in Turkey, that might develop into something in the next few weeks – but that’s about it.”

“And that’s a pretty small operation, all things considered,” Tony commented, to himself.

“Well, assuming that Barnes arm is fully operational by then…”

“I assume,” Tony smiled.

And then Pepper smiled back. A real smile. The one she reserved for very special moments.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” she told him, softly.

“Eh, the solution wasn’t nearly as complicated as the problem,” he replied, dismissively – and she shook her head.

“You know I don’t mean that,” she sighed.

“As long as you’re saying nice things about me,” Tony grinned. She rolled her eyes, affectionately, before she asked,

“So, are you done with them now?”

“Hm? Oh, well, Bucky will need to schedule in at least one more check-up. Assuming there are no other issues…”

“And you’d be happy to see them again? If there were… other issues?” She asked, innocently.

“…I’m not going to do half a job,” Tony answered, in a level voice. Pepper just nodded, _fair enough._

“Well, I can’t stay long, anyway,” she informed him, amiably. “I’m off to DC tonight, for the product meeting that I’m sure you’ve no idea about,”

“None what-so-ever,” he agreed, brightly. “Is it important?”

“Not really,” she admitted, “But I still have to go, so. All the latest reports have been uploaded to your server… Do you have anything you want to ask about?”

And the question sprang into his mind, and then the destructive impulse to say it out loud…

The faintly amused observation that it would be really silly to say it out loud, that – if he was in his right mind – he should be outraged at himself for doing this…

Ah, what the hell.

“Why _did_ you make a pitch for Bucky, when you’ve not spoken up for anyone else, in all this time?” He asked. And Pepper just absorbed the question, the same way she did at press conferences and board meetings and senate hearings….

But the look she gave him was personal.

“Honestly? I didn’t really make a pitch for Barnes,” she confessed. “I made a pitch for Steve Rogers.”

“…So, why?” Tony pushed on – feeling a little flutter of excitement, just at hearing Steve’s name.

“Because… I thought maybe you’d be good for him,” Pepper shrugged. And Tony felt an immediate spike of confusion, a subversion of his most basic expectations.

“…You thought _I’d_ be good for _him_?” He clarified, with a frown. Pepper exhaled softly, and smiled.

“Well, I thought he might be good for you, obviously,” she began. “He seemed to understand the things that made you special, right off the bat. And the way he talked about Bucky, I just thought… that he clearly see’s the humanity in people first. So, yeah, I thought maybe he’d be good for you. But I’ve thought that about a few people, in the last ten years. I’ve met lots of people and thought they might be able to help you… But that’s no good, is it, if there’s nothing you can offer them.”

And, if Pepper had said that on any other day, Tony might have been hurt by it.

As it was, he was just intrigued. Happy to let Pepper explain what she meant.

“And everyone else, I’ve always thought… There would be _so_ much that you could offer them, if only you would,” she went on. “It’s not that I don’t think anyone would be lucky to have you – if you’d just _be_ you. But… I know you. And I know you’ll actively _hide_ all that, and push anyone away, and make it so hard for anyone… And you wouldn’t want someone who’d just put up with that.”

Tony _felt_ that, in a way that took him completely by surprise.

…That was _so_ true, wasn’t it?

He _didn’t_ want someone to be his saviour. He didn’t just want someone who understood, someone who would compromise… someone who would _put up with him._

He hadn’t realised until this moment, but those were the exact words for that shapeless discomfort that he’d always felt… That even if there _was_ someone who wouldn’t be disgusted by him – what sort of incentive was that, for _them_? What sort of relationship could there be, what possible sense of self could Tony have, if the other person simply existed to support him?

And he had always accepted that premise. Without any analysis, or even any real awareness… He’d _always_ thought that finding someone who would agree to have him – as unlikely as that seemed – was actually a pathetic and selfish ambition. That was the foundation for all of his guilt and apprehension. The underlying assumption that Steve – that _anyone_ – would be doing some sort of favour, or accepting some sort of sacrifice, in getting involved with Tony. That, really, he was only ever looking for someone that _didn’t mind_. Someone that was _prepared to_. Someone that _wanted to help him_.

And he could never bring himself to hope for someone that was prepared to throw their life away for him.

He couldn’t work out how to care for someone and not care that they were killing themselves over _him –_ and he’d always assumed it’d take that much out of someone, to get close to him.

And Tony hadn’t even known he knew that, until right now.

But Pepper had known it, all this time…

“But then I spoke to Captain Rogers,” she carried on. “And… I think he’s lonely, too. I think he feels very different from everyone else, and I think he’s looking for the sort of answers that you could give him… I thought he’d value the way you see people. It seemed to me that he was really looking for that… And he was the first person I’d spoken to in _years_ , and thought… You could be good for _each other._ ”

Tony actually felt a little bit tearful, all of a sudden.

He liked that idea so very much – on every conceivable level. Logically, it made perfect sense, and instinctively it felt so right, and emotionally it made so much feel better…

He _liked_ the idea that he could be good for Steve. That he could provide something to this relationship, that he could somehow balance this overwhelming dept he felt to Steve right now.

He was excited at the prospect of yet another argument in his favour – an argument with far more basis than anything _he’d_ come up with. An answer to so many of the doubts he had about getting more involved with Steve.

And he was overwhelmed with admiration and gratitude and _love_ for Pepper. For being that smart and insightful – for being that classy about it. For spending ten years on the look out for someone that would make his life better, and for not stopping until she got it exactly right.

And she’d gotten it so exactly right.

In that moment, Tony was so aware of what she’d done for him. Of all the different qualities she had and the choices she’d made that had led him to the love of his life. And against all odds. In spite of Tony’s complete reluctance, and his maddening commitment to sabotaging himself, Pepper had patiently and compassionately gifted him _this_.

And then she’d calmly made him feel so much better about it.

Well, that’s how it felt in the moment, anyway.

And, in the moment, Tony was so overwhelmed with feeling that he almost threw his arms around her – it was only that she kept talking.

“And, I don’t know if you’ll ever see him again… But, I guess I _was_ thinking that, maybe, at the end of this… you’d have another friend that you could call, sometimes.”

“I fucking love you, you know that?” Tony breathed, in lieu of that hug. And Pepper just smiled, _I love you too._

“Does that mean I was right...?” She asked, playfully.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Tony answered, immediately. And then he thought about it. “Well, no, what I mean is, I have no idea what the fuck is going on, or what’s going to happen. But, yeah, you were right. You always are.”

“But will you remember this the next time I have to argue with you?” Pepper breezed, and Tony laughed again.

“Probably not, no.”

They exchanged a little bit more conversation, before Pepper made her excuses. And, purely because he was feeling happy and social, Tony decided to ride the elevator with her, and walk her to the door.

“How long are you in Washington?” He asked casually, as they walked across the hall.

“Oh, only until Saturday – well, unless something comes up – _ah,_ ” she stopped herself short, shooting Tony a hesitant warning glance…

And only then did Tony recognise that he’d walked right up to the front door.

…And he _never_ walked right up to the front door.

All of the widows in the house were made out of a specially designed material that filtered out the sunlight – and none of them opened. The _only_ place in the building that Tony was potentially at risk of UV exposure was the main entrance, and, as a result, he’d developed an almost pavlovian response to it. Twenty years’ worth of muscle memory had always stopped him twenty feet short of this point. An instinct so deeply ingrained that even Rhodey and Pepper felt it… Hence Peppers reaction right now.

…But Tony hadn’t reacted.

Tony didn’t feel especially unsafe, even now. He only shook his head because he recognised the response he was _supposed_ to have.

“Sorry,” he muttered automatically, as he took a token step backwards. Pepper fixed him with a curious look for a second or two, before she softened and told him,

“I’ll report back from the meeting, and I’ll give you a call when I’m back to New York.”

“Okay,” Tony smiled.

And then Pepper opened the door, and the warm, orange light of the afternoon filled the hallway.

Even standing a foot short of its direct glare, Tony felt the aura of it on his skin. The deep, baking warmth of the sun, so very close…

And he _wondered_ …

“Speak soon,” Pepper smiled, walking out of the door.

“See ya,” Tony replied mindlessly. And then Pepper closed the door behind her…

And a cold sensation washed over Tony’s skin…

And he _wondered_ …

Tony didn’t know how long he’d stood in the hallway, letting these thoughts drift through his head. But, at some point, they’d started to take a shape…

And…

Well…

What harm could it do, to just _see_ if…

Tony made sure to stand a safe distance from the door frame – he had to stretch, to reach the handle. But then the door swung open, and that bright segment of sunlight appeared on the floor of the lobby…

Tony just looked at it, for a second.

And he tried to think about it. He tried to remember the context of this reaction, the objective outcome of any interaction with the sun. He _tried_ to be sensible.

He waited for that familiar instinct, that bodily fear of it.

…He _did_ know that it wasn’t wise to go into the sunlight…ever…

…But that instinct just didn’t kick in.

Eventually, curiosity won out.

Gingerly, Tony held out an arm, putting it right there in the direct gaze of the sun.

…And he waited.

…And he waited.

And it probably wasn’t as long as it felt.

A minute is an _awfully_ long time, if you’re paying attention to it…

But the longer he watched, the more that excitement grew-

It didn’t hurt.

And even as one minute became two, and three…

Still, it just felt…warm.

Tony rolled his arm, letting the light hit the more sensitive skin on the underside… Not even waiting for it to hurt, anymore.

And even after five minutes… and ten…

Even though Tony had taken two steps forward now, even when the sunlight fell over his face… still, there was just that tingle of excitement…

It seemed to go on _forever._

And when Tony _did_ eventually recognise the dry, tight feeling crawling over his skin, still, he didn’t panic. It wasn’t painful, or frightening, or… unnatural.

Actually, it felt a lot like being in the sun used to feel, back when he could just get regular old sunburn…

But Tony pulled his arm back anyway, in respect to all those safeguards and assumptions he’d spent two decades building.

And then stared at the pinkish patch that had appeared on his forearm, and tried to force some feeling of regret. Like gabbing at a tooth you’re worried is loose – trying to make this revelation stronger by testing it, throwing every potential doubt at it.

_And if that leaves a permanent mark, will you be sorry then?_

_If it starts to hurt later, will you be sorry then?_

_If you’ve just scarred yourself for life, on a ridiculous whim?_

…But he just couldn’t make himself feel bad about it.

And then, as he was beginning to revel in the pleasant surprise of not feeling bad… he watched it heal.

Right in front of his eyes.

It just…cooled, and faded, and… then he couldn’t see it at all…

He couldn’t feel it, anymore.

But still, Tony carried on staring at it, amazed. Mesmerised. He felt as though he’d just watched a physical impossibility, a _literal_ miracle… For a few seconds, he was just stunned.

And then there was this blooming of giddy, gleeful joy, that just seemed to consume him from the inside out. Tony was suddenly so excited and awed and happy, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to race around the house, screaming. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to dance, he wanted to _tell_ someone-

…He wanted to tell Steve _._

Tony _only_ wanted to tell Steve, and he wanted to tell him so very much, that he already had his phone in his hand.

But then, just as his thumb was hovering over the call button, a sterner internal voice managed to get his attention.

_Wait just a minute, here._

_Think of the state you’re in, and the things you’ve always thought were important._

_Potentially setting your arm on fire is one thing – but do you really want to risk saying something stupid to Steve?_

Tony frowned at the screen.

Honestly? Yeah, he really _did_ want to do this. There was no resistance in him, no nervousness, no real belief that anything could go wrong.

But he _was_ completely off his box right now, he knew that.

And he remembered how much he usually worried about talking to Steve, how important it was.

And if he _did_ call Steve right now, all he could actually think of saying was _AAAAAAAA_.

…He probably shouldn’t.

He huffed petulantly, and put his phone back into his pocket with a bit too much force. Sulking at himself. But, ultimately, he knew it was a bad idea

…It was almost certainly a bad idea.

He really shouldn’t…

*

When Steve finally woke up the following afternoon, he actually felt worse – at least for the first hour.

His head felt so thick and sluggish, his whole body still weighted down with the remains of sleep. It seemed to take forever for his vision to clear. When he eventually forced himself out of bed, everything felt restricted and heavy and so much more effort…

But, after a while – and two cups of coffee – he did start to feel slightly more human. He began to appreciate the effects of a good night’s sleep, to recognise that he was at least less tense and tired than he had been the day before. That was something.

And then, begrudgingly, he kicked his brain into gear. Resolving to deal with this catastrophe, like someone rolling their sleeves up in anticipation of a new day at the office…

Only to walk in and remember what a complete fucking mess he’d left, when he gave up on it the night before.

How desperately he wanted Tony, how much he _needed_ to be with him. All the reasons that might be impossible or painful or costly. All the reasons Steve should be frightened by this reaction, all the things a previous version of him might’ve said about all this. All the ways it would kill him, if he had to walk away from Tony now.

He thought about how much he wanted to help Tony. Steve ran through all those agonies and injustices that he now felt as his own, all the challenges he had to meet for Tony, all the things he couldn’t possibly know and all the ways he could potentially make it worse.

He thought about the rest of his life. The massive list of issues he’d had before any of this happened, and all the ways they really didn’t help things now.

And then he remembered Bucky.

Steve remembered that he’d already felt guilty for ignoring Bucky. He’d been thinking that he’d have to explain _some_ of what was going on, even before Bucky brought it up. And he’d already thought that it was going to be difficult to put into words, and there were parts of it he wasn’t comfortable sharing, and there were bits that might not be his to tell… That it was likely to be a confusing, arduous conversation, when it did happen.

But that issue did seem so much more approachable than all the others. At least Steve had some idea what he was bracing for, with that one. And at least he knew that Bucky would help him out… Steve _might_ even feel a bit better about everything else, once he’d gone through everything out loud…

And, to be honest, it was the only item on this overwhelming list of problems that Steve felt capable of addressing. The _one_ chance he had of ticking something off, today.

So, when he could put it off no longer, Steve showered, and dressed, and drank yet more coffee – and headed down to the breakroom. Thinking that Bucky would’ve finished his workout by now, and would be either lounging in the easy chair or trying to trick Sam out of it-

But then he bumped into Bucky on the third floor landing – and immediately recognised that Bucky was in uniform.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky greeted him, in that rushed tone of someone just on their way out the door. “I was going to call you-”

“Something happen?” Steve asked, immediately switching into his Captain America head.

“Nothing major – a development on that Turkish arms dealing thing,” Bucky answered efficiently, checking his weapons as he talked. “The retcon team think they’ve found a central server, with like, _all_ the evidence on it, and they don’t want to risk it getting blown up when they go in to take it, basically.”

“So where are we going?” Steve questioned, as he tried to bring the details of that particular project to mind.

“Oh, I said I’d do it,” Bucky waved the enquiry aside – and when Steve frowned at him, he explained. “Well, it doesn’t take the whole team to storm a warehouse and take a computer. Nick asked for two volunteers, so I said I’d go with Sam.”

“Oh, right,” Steve blinked. And _then_ he recognised just how much he hadn’t wanted to think about work right now. What a relief it was to have dodged that bullet… “Thanks,” he added, softly.

“Well, don’t think you’ve weaselled out of our big conversation, because you haven’t,” Bucky sighed, glancing down at his phone. “We’re back late tomorrow night, so _Saturday,_ I’m coming for you,”

“Fair enough,” Steve laughed, momentarily distracted by the feeling of getting away with something. Then he saw Bucky shoot his phone screen an incredulous look – he could only assume in response to a message from Sam – before he glanced up at Steve apologetically.

“And I’ve got to go,” he sighed. Steve just stepped aside, amiably, thinking that he’d wait for Bucky to leave before he had another go at constructing a plan for the day. And then, just as he reached the top of the stairs, Bucky looked back at him. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, of course I am, don’t be stupid,” Steve smiled, waving him on, _go, go._ And then, as an afterthought, when Bucky was half way to the next floor, he called out “And don’t get killed!”

He could just about make out the sound of Bucky laughing at him, as he disappeared down the stairs.

And then there a strange, expansive emptiness just washed over him. Steve had been so focused on his immediate plan, so aware of the pressure to do something…

Now he didn’t know _what_ to do with himself.

He glanced around the deserted lobby, energy collecting in his muscles as he thought about all the things he _couldn’t_ do right now. And all the things he didn’t want to do, and all the things he was sure wouldn’t help… But, suddenly, he felt desperate to do _something_.

 _Now_ he felt awake and alert.

 _Now_ his mind felt rested, and raring to go.

…But not on anything that was actually available to him, right now.

He sighed, heavily, and resigned himself to a few hours in the gym. Which seemed like a shallow, pointless use of all this adrenaline, but he couldn’t think of anything else-

And then his phone rang.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic now includes some truly incredible art by Snowzapped, which is featured in Chapter 5 - if you haven't seen it yet, I fully recommend you check it out. It's amazing. 
> 
> Also, I realise I'm an unbearable tease... but hey, just wait until the *next* update 😉
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt like this.

It felt like something he _should_ remember, from before. From when he was young. From when he was human.

It seemed like such a very human thing, to be standing with every muscle tensed, his heart swelling to bursting point as he listened to that dial tone. Waiting for the boy he liked to answer…

But maybe this was something Tony never got the chance to do, in what little of a real life he got to have. Maybe this was something he’d only seen in movies-

And then Steve answered, all breathless and eager and adorable.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Tony repeated, a silly, giggly happiness flooding through him. He _had_ been practising some sort of opening statement – but he’d suddenly forgotten all about that. “Are you busy?”

“The exact opposite of busy,” Steve raced to assure him. “Bucky and Sam are off on some retrieval mission, and Nat is training with the Maximoffs all week – I’m actually standing here wondering what the hell to do with my day.”

And Tony just let himself get carried away with the melody of Steve’s voice, picturing his face, the exact way he’d be standing right now…

“Why?” Steve added.

“Oh,” Tony blinked, scrabbling to remember what excuse he’d contrived to call Steve in the first place… “Oh! Yeah, I, uh, wanted to tell you about this… thing that happened…” And even as he was speaking, the enormity of it was overwhelming him. All the ways he thought of wording it sounded far too mundane. And he realised – or rather, he heard himself _say_ -

“Do you want to come over?”

And he didn’t even have time to panic about it, before Steve was answering,

“Yeah! Um, yeah, sure – what, now?”

“Er… Well, if you’re _not_ doing anything right now…” Tony answered, over a sudden surge of nervous elation.

Had he really just invited Steve over? Just… _invited him over_?

“I’m really not,” Steve smiled. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Yeah, sure, no rush,” Tony failed spectacularly at his attempt to be nonchalant.

And then there was the _slightest_ little pause before Steve hung up.

And then Tony was just standing there, his phone still pressed against his ear, a stupid grin plastered all over his face.

He observed, calmly, that this was a very good example of the sort of thing that made him anxious. He remembered, belatedly, to ask himself, _oh, what have you done?_

…But he didn’t really feel that.

Those were just lines in his head, phrases he ran through like a bored child reciting the Lords Prayer for the ten thousandth time – not even bothering to think about what it meant.

Not feeling any of the anxiety he had just dutifully noted, not _really_ asking himself why he’d done it-

He knew why he’d done it.

Whether it made sense or not, Tony just _knew_ that he wanted Steve to be here. That everything would be even better if Steve was actually here.

_Steve should be here…_

…And Steve was on his way.

The relief and excitement of that – the fundamental _rightness_ of that – was more than enough to overwhelm any sensible concerns that Tony might have had. All his usual questions and worst-case scenarios just got absorbed into the thrill of it all.

_I can’t believe I’ve just invited someone over._

_I can’t believe I’m going to talk to Steve about this_

_I can’t believe it’s just going to be the two of us, with nothing we’re supposed to be doing_

_…How exciting._

And then Tony felt himself bite back a smile. It was like his body had the idea before it reached his head. His lungs felt tight, and his skin felt warm, even before he’d processed that mental picture…

He thought of kissing Steve. He imagined the warmth of Steve’s lips and the firm press of Steve’s hands against his back-

And then a voice in his head, almost teasing, _that’s not what you’ve invited him over for, now is it…?_ Like Tony was playing along with himself, _enjoying_ the drama of this.

_Of course_ , he hadn’t just called Steve because was about as horny as he’d ever been in his life right now. He wasn’t inviting Steve over for _that_ …specifically _._ He’d called Steve because he wanted to tell him about the sunlight thing. Tony _wanted_ to show Steve this, to share it with him, to make Steve understand the multi-layered importance of it. Tony made a point of telling himself so – in the playful tone of a parent, pretending to be strict in the build up to a big surprise.

_Why don’t you just get excited about Steve coming over to see you, hm?_

_Concentrate on what you actually wanted to tell him._

_…And if something more than that happens-_

But Tony told himself not to think about that – smiling all the while. He told himself that it was nice enough that Steve was on his way over.

…And, how about that, it was actually true.

Even if Tony denied himself some of those daydreams… the ones that he _was_ allowed were actually exciting enough.

Steve _was_ going to turn up, any minute.

And Tony was going to be able to tell Steve – to _show_ him – exactly what his blood meant. Or try, at least. God, he didn’t even know how to begin to explain. How it felt, to have the sun on his skin. How he’d changed, thanks Steve.

He could show Steve that.

And all of that was exhilarating and life affirming and new…

Even _before_ Tony got to thinking that… well, this _would_ be the first time he and Steve had actually been alone together.

That he knew Steve liked him.

That he happened to know that Steve had _no_ gag reflex what-so-ever-

And then a more sombre voice spoke up.

_But that is all you get to think about._

…It was momentarily sobering. That brief time before the fantasy, when everything is at its most real.

He made a genuine effort to pay attention to that one. Like he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to play at all if he didn’t listen to the safety briefing.

He knew, really, it was okay for him to be excited that Steve was on his way. Whatever twenty years of conditioning told him.

And he knew, really, it wouldn’t be a big deal if he _did_ kiss Steve. That it was perfectly harmless to daydream about it, whatever little games he was playing with himself.

But he couldn’t even _think_ about biting him.

He actually gave an earnest little nod, all on his own in the living room. _That_ one was serious, he knew that. He’d ruin everything if he didn’t stick to that one rule.

But he _could_ stick to that rule.

For a start, he was full. For possibly the first time ever, that gnawing background hunger just wasn’t there. Nothing ached, nothing hurt. He probably wouldn’t _have_ to drink again for a week.

And more to the point, there were so many other things to focus on. So many new and thrilling thoughts he was allowed to get carried away with, for the first time in his life. It really wasn’t a hardship to enjoy those things, rather than sabotage them.

_I understand, and I solemnly promise I will not even think about this again… now, can I please be excited about the ridiculous thing I just did?_

And he smiled.

“JARVIS, how long has it been since I hung up on Steve?” he asked, impatiently.

“Fifty-two seconds, sir,” JARVIS replied, dryly.

“ _What_?” Tony whined, looking up at the ceiling with an incredulous expression on his face. At times like this, he could swear he felt JARVIS smiling at him. A patient, affectionate sort of smile, probably.

_Fifty two fucking seconds?_

Oh, this was going to be a long ten minutes…

*

In fact, Steve made it to his usual parking spot in just under seven minutes – which was soon as he could possibly have been there, without endangering other drivers on the road.

And, in among all the many things he was thinking, he considered that he might be getting a bit carried away with himself. That he would probably come over as needy and weird if he literally _ran_ to the front door. So, he forced himself to take a deep breath, and told himself to calm down-

And grinned.

Steve had just realised that he was _nervous_. And it was nothing like the nerves he had to power through at the beginning of every mission, or the queasy feeling he got before press conferences and government meetings and other things he just wanted to be over. It wasn’t that cold anxiety that still stalked him through personal conversations; it wasn’t the fear that something was about to go wrong. This was an electric, vital nervousness. A barely tempered excitement at the idea of something going _right_.

This reminded him of being a short kid from Brooklyn, before he and Bucky headed out on one of their ridiculous neighbourhood adventures.

It was like that first night in the army, when he’d been so full of desperation to succeed that he could barely sit still.

It felt like those nights during the war, when he’d catch someone’s eye from across a room and feel a spike of interest.

That surge of adrenaline when there was nothing to lose except all the things you could’ve gained, that pure and passionate hope for one particular outcome. It felt immediate, and real-

He felt _part_ of this moment.

He liked it.

He even liked the fact that he was having to give himself a little pep talk right now. Sitting in the car, trying to keep his hands steady and telling himself not to come across as a total stalker… it all seemed very un-Captain America like.

Steve gave his head a self-conscious little shake, and made a weak attempt to wipe the grin from his face, and opened the car door with only slightly too much force. He crossed the car park at just less than a run, and managed to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the door to open.

And as soon as he stepped into the hallway, he knew.

Even though he couldn’t possibly have heard Tony yet, even though he couldn’t see him, Steve immediately recognised that Tony was _there_. That he was coming to meet Steve at the door.

Well, _that_ had never happened before-

And then Steve heard the speedy patter of footsteps echoing from the left-hand hallway, and then Tony all but slid across the polished floor, coming to a not-especially-graceful stop right in front of him.

“Hi,” Tony beamed, bright and excited and happy. Steve was instantly overwhelmed by _affection._ That same warm feeling that had flooded through him all those months ago, when he’d watched Tony sit down, cross legged, on the floor of his workshop. There was an almost childlike joy that was simply part of Tony, something that had stayed there under the surface in spite of everything he’d been through. Something that wasn’t always on display… But, apparently, Steve liked it very much when it was.

And then, as Steve was fighting an urge to cuddle him… It was like everything came into focus. All the different elements came together in one image, and Steve realised what he was looking at-

How _astoundingly_ beautiful Tony was.

Lovelier than he’d ever been, even in Steve’s imagination. His eyes shone even brighter than they usually did, and his lips were fuller, and his skin practically _glowed_ -

“Hi,” Steve breathed, forgetting all about his plan to try and play it cool. And he probably would’ve followed with something cringe-makingly awkward, or adorably dazed, except that Tony was too excited to leave a gap for it.

“So, I wanted to show you something,” Tony announced. “But now I’m thinking I should probably try to explain it first, or it won’t make sense why it’s such a big deal, so.”

As Tony was talking he was walking back towards the door, and Steve just followed him like a puppy. And then Tony took his position, about a foot to the left of the door frame, and gestured to Steve, _come, stand here._

Steve tried to follow the instructions very seriously, thinking it might help to balance out the dizziness. Trying his best to focus on what Tony was saying, knowing that it was clearly something _important_ -

But, Jesus, Tony was just so stunning it was hard to hear over the top of it.

And then Tony leaned over and opened the door wide – and that caught Steve’s attention.

“Woah, is that… safe?” Steve asked, before he could stop himself. His shoulders already bracing, in case he had to pull Tony away.

“Ah, well, that’s the thing,” Tony almost giggled. “Not really, no. Well, not _usually_. So, uh, you’ve been on missions to Ethiopia and Libya and Sudan, right? You know, places where the sun is _dangerous_ hot?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve nodded.

“Well, think maybe just worse than that,” Tony suggested, “Like the Australian outback at noon on the hottest day of the year, or the middle of the Sahara desert – places you don’t get sent on missions, because they’re just too damn hot.”

“Okay.”

“Well, imagine the most fair skinned person you know, gets dropped buck-naked in the middle of the Sahara, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the hottest summer on record, miles away from the shade – they still won’t immediately burst into flames,” Tony explained, “ _But,_ it’s going to start to hurt pretty quickly, and it’s going to do some serious damage before too long, and – even if that person has as much food and water as they need – eventually the sun itself _will_ kill them, you know? So, being a vampire is a bit like that. I’m not going to instantly turn to dust, like in the movies. But it’s not exactly a good idea…”

And, as he said it, he took a little step forward – and held his arm out, into the sunlight.

Steve felt his ribs clench, his whole-body tensing in sudden alarm. He stepped behind Tony, his hands braced to grab him, his eyes fixed on Tony’s arm. Waiting for something terrible to happen.

…But it didn’t.

And then Steve dared to look away, glancing nervously at Tony’s face… And he just got _lost_ there, for a few seconds.

It was the look in Tony’s eyes. The honest, vulnerable joy in his expression, the unaffected _wonder_. It was beyond beautiful. Steve felt such a sense of peace when he looked at him, such a pure, unlimited happiness…

It was only that nagging worry for Tony that pulled him out of it.

“Does that… hurt?” Steve whispered, looking back at Tony’s arm.

“ _Nope”_ Tony giggled, flexing his hands. “Not yet, anyway. And I tested this earlier – it was _forever_ before I could feel it. But that’s not even the best bit. The _best_ bit is – it heals.”

“So, it did hurt you, before?” Steve clarified. “Eventually, I mean?”

“Well, not really hurt me, to be honest,” Tony corrected. “I think it might just have been… well, maybe not a _normal_ reaction to the sun, but… after a while, it got kinda red. And, yeah, actually, it _was_ sort of stupid for me to let that happen, because sunburn is a big deal for vampires. It’s the _only_ thing that’s a big deal. Everything else heals extra fast, but sun damage? Even a slight pinking of the skin can hang around for months, or leave a scar-”

“And yet you still have your arm in the sun” Steve reminded him, his voice getting a little tighter. And Tony laughed.

“Well, my arm’s _not_ even slightly pink yet, is it?” He observed, joyfully. But, much to Steve’s relief, he did pull his arm back. “ _And_ , I think that would take too long to show you for this to still be fun, so I guess you’re just going to have to take my word for it – it _heals_. It just… goes away. Like any other bruise or cut – _faster_ that it would’ve healed when I was human.”

And then he looked up at Steve, his eyes so alive and glowing golden in the sunlight, almost too amazed to smile.

And Steve just _melted_. His arms fell to his side, rendered weak by the scale of his reaction.

“I mean, I’m not _going_ to,” Tony babbled on happily, taking no particular care when he reached over to close the door. “But I think I actually could run out and get something from the car. Like it wouldn’t kill me if the ceiling collapsed right now.”

Steve felt it swell up in his chest, as he became more and more aware of what this really meant to Tony. How happy Tony was… How much better this made things…

“So… How…?” Steve questioned, cautiously. Hardly daring to hope-

“You,” Tony told him simply, with a baffled little shrug.

“Huh,” just sort of fell out of Steve’s mouth. And then he had to stop himself and swallow hard, suddenly worried he’d tear up.

“And, I don’t know if that’s _just_ because it’s actually a healthy blood sample, as compared to the crap I usually get,” Tony carried on, “or if it’s just because of the serum, or just because it’s… _you_ ,” he laughed. “Which I know can’t really be – I mean, your blood can’t _work better_ just because of how much I like you… Can it?”

Another surprised little noise escaped Steve – more of a squeak, this time.

_How much you like me?_

_So, you do like me, then?_

And Tony paused, and raised his eyebrows, _what?_

And then a more thoughtful expression came over his features, his gaze focusing on Steve’s face. And Steve was just about to worry that he’d said something wrong… when Tony smiled.

“Have I never said that before?” He asked, like he was amused at himself.

“I, uh, I don’t… not in so many…words, I don’t think…” Steve stammered awkwardly, a hot blush running up his neck-

Because, _obviously_ , Steve was already quite sure that Tony had never said he liked him. Steve had spent hours combing through every conversation they’d ever had… Sometimes looking for that, specifically.

 _Steve_ had said it. He’d told Tony exactly why he liked him, and how, and since when… And Tony hadn’t said it back. Tony just said, _okay._ And Steve was still delighted that Tony had said yes, and Steve had spent a lot longer thinking about _that_ … But, yeah, he’d also spent a few hours wondering what that silence meant. Analysing all the things Tony _hadn’t_ said.

Except, he _did_ just say-

“I’m sorry,” Tony laughed. “I’m _really_ bad at this, apparently. Very out of practice, you know… But, yeah, I like you. A lot. Enough that I’m seriously wondering if it’s fixed my back pain.”

Steve breathed a very soft _oh,_ too stunned to even think about answering. He hadn’t even gotten as far as not knowing what to say, yet.

“Because it’s not just the sunlight thing, you know,” Tony added suddenly, taking a step towards Steve. “It’s… _everything_. Everything is easier, and, just, _better_ , and – it _is_ you. Your blood. The fact that you… So, you know, I just wanted to tell you that. To show you that.”

Steve finally recognised it was his turn to talk… but he still couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat, for a start. And even if he could’ve physically formed words – what words? There were no words.

This was everything Steve had _ever_ wanted.

There were parts of this he hadn’t even known he wanted, until this very moment. Things he hadn’t _let_ himself want… ever. Never in his life.

Steve had always been ashamed to want too much, when other people had so little. Always embarrassed to ask for anything, even in his own head. Even if he _could_ have come up with a moment as perfect as this, he wouldn’t have had the front to hope for it. Steve had only ever allowed himself a bargained down, compromised version of this, even in his fantasies. Always assuming he’d have to make do with so much less than this…

Same as he always had.

_I know lots of people are sick, and I don’t ever expect to be ‘well’… But if I could just breathe…_

_I don’t expect anyone to fall in love with me or anything… But it’d be nice to have just one romantic memory…_

_I’m not asking to make it back from the war… But if they’d just let me go, I swear, I’d…_

_I know I won’t ever be special to him. I know I can’t keep him. I know I can’t make it all better… But if I could just see him again, if I could just make some_ _sort of difference – I wouldn’t care what it cost me, or if he ever knew it was me, or if I ever got to see it_

It was only now that Steve realised just how much he _had_ wanted this. All of this.

How lost and impotent he’d felt, in this strange and distance future. How much he’d wanted some sort of meaning in his life – some purpose beyond what Captain America stood for, something he could care about for _himself._

That he _did_ want to be special to Tony, that he wanted to be the one to help him – that he wanted Tony to know. That he wanted Tony to like him.

How much Steve wanted to be in love, how much he’d wanted to feel a connection exactly like this. That he’d _always_ wanted this desperate, passionate romance – and he knew it wasn’t mandatory, and it obviously wasn’t for everybody, and that all the other things he’d told himself were still true… But _Steve_ had wanted it. Even when it seemed ridiculous to hope for it, even when Steve hadn’t let himself think about it… He’d always wanted this.

And now he was just… _looking right at it._

It even calmed that _new_ feeling in him. That odd little anxiety, or impulse, or… hunger… Steve didn’t know what to call it. That compulsive feeling that flared up whenever he thought of Tony drinking his blood, that… _thing_ , that never quite went away.

It was soothed now, though.

_Tony is pleased with me…_

Turned out, Steve wasn’t very good at just getting what he wanted.

This might literally have been the first time it had ever happened – and least, without some awful price attached, or some dreadful trauma happening in the background.

He had no idea _how_ to be this happy. Where to put all this feeling. What the hell to do with his face.

What could he possibly _say_?

“I… I’m glad,” he croaked, eventually – not sure if he could blush any more than he was.

And Tony’s smile warmed, his eyes still alive and amused and fixed right on Steve.

“Do you want to kiss me?” He asked, like he was simply curious about it.

“I – Yes,” Steve answered, far too quickly.

“So, why haven’t you?” Tony went on in that same interested tone, taking another little step forward.

“I didn’t… know if you wanted – if I…could…” Steve stammered, the tips of his ears actually burning by now, his heart beating so hard that his ribs hurt.

Wow, he hadn’t been _this_ smooth since about the sixth grade…

But Tony just carried on smiling, and closed the gap between them completely, his chest _almost_ touching Steve’s when he looked up and said,

“Well, I do. And you can.”

Steve felt his mind snap back into focus. An immediate shift from all those huge, life-long ideas, back to this one moment. He stopped trying to comprehend how wonderful and unlikely it was that Tony wanted to kiss him, and got to thinking that-

Tony wanted to kiss him.

Steve pulled Tony hard against his chest, one arm snaking tight around his waist, the other hand going to the back of Tony’s head, guiding him up into the kiss. He could feel Tony smiling against his mouth, warm and unhurried and playful, his fingers curling into the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt. Steve was momentarily overwhelmed by the abundance of it. How good this felt. How much he loved Tony. How much of Tony he had, right now. Steve pulled his arm tighter around him, indulging in the solid strength of him, the perfect shape of him. Stroking his other hand down over Tony’s neck, and the curve of his shoulder, and the sweep of his back, and all those other little details that he loved so much about him. Tony hummed softly, parting his lips and kissing Steve deeper, pressing his whole body against him. And then Steve felt Tony move, that slightest hint of friction shocking through him, forcing him to break away and gasp for air.

It was only then that Steve realised his head was swimming. It took a second for his vision to clear… and then there was Tony.

And Steve had the most powerful sense of clarity. This unexplainable, unmistakable feeling that he was _meant_ to be here. That this was the answer to every wordless question he’d ever asked himself, that this made sense of all that cruelty and confusion. And he knew he would never have been able to explain it, and it would’ve probably sounded dramatic and corny if he tried... But it was like he suddenly just _understood_ what it had all been for. That everything he’d ever been through, however unfair or unnecessary it seemed at the time, had led him here.

And, even deeper than that… For years, Steve had been conflicted and frustrated and confused about that sense of purpose he’d always felt. Finding that he was wrong to pledge it to the US government, and wrong to pledge it to SHIELD. Wondering if he could ever be sure enough to truly commit himself to anything ever again – if he’d ever really be at peace, if he couldn’t. Knowing there was still that sense of duty in him, that nameless calling towards some higher meaning.

What if this was it? What if this was what he was _meant_ for, all this time…

And then Tony’s smile broke into a grin – which hit Steve in a far more basic, physical place than wherever those high-minded musings had come from.

“Hey, you wanna come see my room?” Tony suggested in a playful tone.

“Uh-huh” Steve nodded-

Trying to remember how the fuck his legs worked.

*

While they were in the elevator, Tony _did_ pause to consider that this was all very… _different,_ to how things usually were.

That he wouldn’t usually act this way.

That he _never_ felt like this.

That this might all be the result of the inhibited intoxication that was still flowing through him… A feeling that had only grown stronger since Steve had turned up, increasing at about the same rate as Tony was losing himself. Scientifically speaking, it was highly likely that Tony was under the influence of something right now, that his choices and thought processes were all being influenced by that…

But this just felt more like coming out of a trance than falling into one.

Tony felt like he could _see_ things more clearly now. And it wasn’t just that he was more aware, or more awake, or because his senses had all improved – this was a more cerebral thing. Like the moment when he finally worked out the crucial flaw in a complex theory, but applied to his entire life. A dawning sense of realisation…

And suddenly just… _getting_ it.

_Seeing_ his life, understanding what he’d been looking at all this time. It was like he’d been agonising over a puzzle for twenty years only to realise it was upside down. This one burst of revelation had made sense of a thousand impossible questions. Things that were once so complicated and unfixable seemed to just fall into place, forming an obvious pattern, a self-balancing equation.

And maybe that _was_ how it felt to be high. He noted that possibility. But he just couldn’t unsee this – he couldn’t fathom how’d he’d _ever_ unsee it, now that he knew it was there.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was how he was _supposed_ to be.

That feeling of confidence, and playfulness, and maybe a little bit of risk taking… was that what he would have been like, if Obie hadn’t taken everything from him? Is this the personality he would’ve had, the way he _would_ have acted, if he’d not isolated himself from the world for two whole decades?

Even though this was all so unlike him, so different from anything he’d done in the last twenty years, it still seemed so natural. Like coming home. Even though he hadn’t been in this head for so very long, and even though he had a whole other life he’d built somewhere far, far away… he could never really be a _guest_ here. There was some part of this he felt at ease with, entitled to, even though it made no sense. Some part of it that felt _more_ familiar, more fundamentally ‘right’, than the way he’d done things his whole adult life.

And, when he did briefly think back to his earlier intentions, and remembered that he wasn’t supposed to jump Steve within five minutes of him arriving… It was like remembering part of a dream. That momentary confusion when you remember the exam you were driving to or the goat you were supposed to keep an eye on or the fact that your mom is having an affair with your geography teacher – that same amused realisation that, _obviously_ , that wasn’t real.

Tony couldn’t even remember _why_ he’d thought he shouldn’t kiss Steve – only that it had seemed to make sense, in the dream.

And that sense of clarity carried on growing and expanding, far beyond its own parameters. The realisation of who he really was, and how he would naturally respond, and how he really saw things, suddenly helped him to see things beyond himself.

It helped him to see _Steve_.

Tony really thought he was just going to step forward and kiss Steve. Seeing the world as it actually was, it seemed such an obvious thing to do – so obviously what _he_ would do. He wanted to, he knew Steve wanted to, he knew he _could_ … But it was only at the last second, when he glanced up at those beautiful lips – and _saw_ the specific little smile, and then the look in Steve’s eyes…

And it was like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. Like he could actually feel what Steve felt, just then.

And Tony had just recognised, _no, you should ask him to kiss you._

As coherent and cognisant as any thought that had ever come into his head – a hell of a lot more sensible than half the bullshit he’d been thinking for years, he realised now.

He knew what this moment meant to _Steve_ … and why. Tony knew what specific need this helped to meet…

And then he _saw_ that need, there under the surface… that had always been there…

God, how had he missed _that_?

The elevator came to a soft stop beneath their feet, and Tony glanced up at Steve in time to see Steve staring straight ahead with a very specific focus.

It was the strangest feeling… and yet so perfectly obvious.

Feeling like this was the first time he’d ever looked at Steve – and still feeling like he knew him so well.

Suddenly understanding how nervous Steve was, how lonely he was, how much he needed this… _what_ he needed from this…

Remembering every interaction they’d ever shared in one instant rush, suddenly seeing what should’ve been obvious at the time.

This _beautiful_ , rare human being, still trying so hard and caring so much, in spite of everything.

All those awful traumas, that only cut deeper because of Steve’s inherent goodness – the same goodness that led him to cover it all up, pretend it wasn’t there, fight on in spite of it.

So brave.

So soft, still.

…It was Tony’s _job_ , to look after Steve.

If there was something Steve needed…

And Tony knew exactly what Steve needed.

The elevator dinged cheerfully, and the doors slid open. Tony saw Steve take a little breath and set his shoulders before he dared to look at him.

And Tony smiled.

He took Steve’s hand… deliberately squeezing just a bit too hard. He saw that exact thrill flash up in Steve’s eyes – exactly as he knew it would. And then he tugged at Steve’s arm.

“Come.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter.  
> Some mild sub/dom themes are explored, although there is no threat of pain, punishment, withholding or humiliation, and it's all very consensual. I think it's pretty safe, but if you have any specific triggers, please feel free to contact me.  
> And, just so that no one is anxious about this update - *this* chapter is all about the happy.  
> I mean, are we done with the angst, before the happy ending? Are they done torturing each other in this fic?  
> ...Can't say.  
> But they're certainly happy in this update, and I really hope you enjoy reading it.

It was the specific tone of Tony’s voice. Rich and warm and almost dangerous…

_Come_.

A part of Steve responded to that, instantly and instinctively and _physically_. A little tug from somewhere deep in his hips, a shiver that seemed to run under his muscles. And yeah, it was without question the hottest damn thing Steve had _ever_ heard – but it was more than that. Suddenly, this was about more than sex. More than love, even.

At some point between the hall and Tony’s bedroom, they’d stepped into a different space entirely. Or a higher space, maybe. Because all those other reactions and priorities were all still there – how much Steve loved Tony, and how much he wanted Tony, and how happy Steve was, were all still a part of this moment. But now it was like Steve could see _all_ parts of it, how everything fit together…

That this _was_ everything.

The idea of following that instruction soothed a part of Steve that had ached since before he even met Tony.

The voice that Tony had used was somehow a comfort and a vindication and a thrill, all at once.

This was what _all_ parts of Steve were meant for, the one thing that all parts of him could agree on. The first time in… maybe his whole life, that Steve had felt such complete and total certainty.

That chaos of voices that was _always_ arguing in his head – about what was right, and what really mattered, and what he owed, and what he should do – were all finally speaking in one harmonised chorus.

_Yes._

_This._

And then Tony took Steve’s hand, and squeezed, and Steve felt it flood his entire body like a liquid heat. He might even have whimpered softly. He let Tony lead him over to the bed – dragging his step just a little bit, just so that he could feel Tony tugging against him. And then Tony came to a stop, and turned to face him, and Steve damned near bumped right into him. His free hand automatically went to Tony’s arm, to steady himself…

His other hand just flinched in Tony’s grip.

…And Tony was just so _casual_ about holding it there. He didn’t register the slightest effort on his face, his muscles didn’t tense, he just… Didn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

And _fuck_ , that was-

Steve felt his whole body seize in frantic need as he pulled Tony into him, kissing him hard. Tony melted into it, finally releasing Steve’s hand so that he could throw his arms around his neck… Smiling, still. _Indulging_ Steve’s desperation for a moment, rather than getting caught up in it himself. Steve could feel that Tony was still completely in control, so solid and warm and strong in Steve’s arms – and Jesus, that just made Steve _more_ desperate for him.

Tony slid his palms, slow and firm, over Steve’s neck and back, a perfect contrast to Steve’s frenetic, uncoordinated clawing. And Steve liked that he couldn’t move Tony, that he couldn’t hurry him or agitate him – that there was nothing to stop Steve from moving however he wanted, because he couldn’t possibly affect anything, whatever he did. Already, there was a dizzying sort of freedom to feeling so overpowered.

And then he felt Tony’s hand caress over his ribs, and up over his chest – finally coming to a confident stop, firm against his skin, right over his heart. _Wait._

Steve broke the kiss with a gasp. Even though every inch of his body longed for more of this, even though every instinct was screaming at him to carry on – he stopped the second Tony told him to.

Steve _felt_ Tony smile before he could open his eyes. His fingers were still curling into the fabric of Tony’s shirt, his breath still coming in ragged, noisy gulps, when his vision finally cleared. The first thing his saw was Tony’s mouth, dark red and slightly swollen and…amused. _Knowing._

“We’ve got as long as you want, you know,” Tony grinned, warm and almost teasing. But _nice._ There was no hint of malice in anything about him, no competitiveness, or ego, or self-preservation. Everything was soft and kind and reassuring, from the look in his eyes to the way he held his body. The gentle, understanding tone of his voice… calm and sweet and _giving_ …

But commanding, still.

An authority – without question.

Powerful _…_ maybe even _because_ he was so tender…

_Safe_.

“There’s no rush,” Tony went on, in that same voice.

“I want you,” Steve breathed, just because he was thinking it. And Tony’s eyes lit up, in a way that excited every nerve in Steve’s body-

But Tony remained still, and calm and in control. He took a few seconds to consider Steve’s face, his gaze lingering on Steve’s lips before he kissed him again – _slowly._ He held Steve firm, and made Steve meet his pace…

…Although, Steve wasn’t exactly sure _how_ Tony made him.

How Steve knew Tony’s movements well enough to meet them so naturally, why he was so completely powerless against Tony’s intentions…

…But he was.

…And he liked it.

Steve let the heady strangeness of it wash over him; the power there was in surrendering, the liberation of total submission. The softness of Tony’s lips and the warmth of his mouth and the taste of him, all part of the same charged sensation. And then Tony broke away again, and Steve heard himself let go of a small, urgent whine.

 _Please_.

Tony’s smile softened, into something almost sad.

“No one is going to take this from you,” he whispered, sincerely. “Whatever happens, I promise – we have as long as you want, for whatever you want.”

And Steve was very briefly thrown.

 _That_ wasn’t why he was so desperate right now. It wasn’t because he was worried that this would be snatched away from him…

Wait.

…was it?

“There is nothing you could do, or say, that would make me want this any less,” Tony went on. “There is nothing you _have_ to do, no way you can possibly spoil this, or let me down. You know that, don’t you?” And he fixed Steve with a sincere look, his features briefly hardening into a more serious expression.

And Steve felt something very deep inside him just _give._

The overwhelming release of tension, the indescribable relief of putting down a weight that he hadn’t even known he was carrying.

…So, apparently, he _was_ worried about that.

And then Tony stroked his palm up along Steve’s neck, slow and steady and sure, eventually coming to cradle the side of his face. Steve sighed, and let his head rest against Tony’s hand, and ran through all of those promises again in his head. Still trying to process how wonderful that was, still in the middle of realising how much it meant, that he really believed that-

Never suspecting that Tony was about to deliver such a _devastating_ blow.

 _Entirely_ unprepared, when Tony leaned in close and whispered,

“My poor Steve.”

All the air just evaporated out of Steve’s lungs. He found himself standing to attention, even though his knees suddenly felt dangerously weak-

He was just so – _stunned._

Shocked to hear anyone say that.

Shocked at just how intensely and immediately it affected him.

It was the voice Tony used as much as the actual words. Such genuine sympathy, such _feeling_ …

Oh…was he allowed _that_ though?

Breaking societal conventions on sex and relationships and even letting someone drink his blood was one thing. And hey, Steve knew this little episode wasn’t going to make it into any of the comic books, and there were plenty of his self-proclaimed fans who’d be shocked by his behaviour – and he really didn’t care.

But wanting someone to feel sorry for him?

Maybe wanting to feel sorry for _himself_ … for just a minute, maybe-

That seemed like a much bigger taboo, somehow.

Un-Captain America in a very different way.

That would mean stepping outside of himself, and being vulnerable, in a way he’d not considered in even his most inventive fantasies…

But, God, Steve _did_ want to fall into this. He _wanted_ to-

“Come here,” Tony whispered softly, guiding Steve to climb with him onto the bed. And Steve just followed him, like his limbs were responding to Tony’s thoughts rather than his own. And then Tony put a hand to Steve’s shoulder, and pushed him to lie flat on his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. Steve whimpered at the sudden friction and bucked up against him, his hands grabbing at Tony’s waist. Tony grinned indulgently and ground against him slowly, sending a hot wave of pleasure rolling up Steve’s spine. Steve groaned, and tried to rock up into it – but found he was pinned so much more firmly than he expected to be. Like Tony was able to push down against him with more weight than he carried, able to hold Steve still without even moving.

“Please,” Steve groaned, caressing his palms roughly over Tony’s thighs. And Tony just hummed happily, and placed his hands over Steve’s, taking hold of his wrists with a warm and patient grip.

Then he leant down to kiss Steve again – pinning his arms above his head as he did it.

Steve felt his stomach dip, his cock pulsing sharply as he flexed his wrists against Tony’s hands. It was like Tony wasn’t even fighting him – like he didn’t even have to. He just carried on teasing Steve’s lips apart, kissing him deeper, warm and unhurried and confident. Steve let himself get carried away with it for a moment, just thinking of how perfect Tony’s mouth was and how much he loved the taste of him…

But then he went to put his arms around Tony, and remembered that he _couldn’t_.

…He really _couldn’t_.

He broke the kiss by accident, throwing his head back and gulping for air. And Tony just smiled at him for a second… and then glanced above Steve’s head, to where his hands were pinned… and then met Steve’s eye again, one eyebrow raised.

_Go on then. Try._

Steve felt like all his breaths were collecting high up in his lungs, his heartbeat increasing as he tugged hesitantly against Tony’s grip… And then a little harder…

Christ, he could really feel how strong Tony was, when he did this.

Steve swallowed roughly, sweat prickling his forehead and the small of his back as he made a genuine attempt to twist away. That time Tony had to tense his arms, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under his skin…

Steve fell helpless against him, panting.

“I can’t,” he whispered, delighted. And Tony smiled.

“But if you asked me to let you go, I would,” he said. “If you wanted me to let you go, I would.”

And then Tony shifted, and moved Steve’s arms so that they were lying more comfortably against the pillows, and then fixed Steve with a more serious look.

“And if I ask you not to move your arms, you won’t,” he said, simply, waiting until he saw Steve’s eager little nod of agreement before he released his wrists.

Steve felt the absence against his skin like a cold burn, his entire body trembling as Tony kissed him again, once, very softly. Steve’s cock ached under the unmoving pressure of him, his hands flinching against an instinct to grab him. It was a basic, automatic reaction, it should have been impossible to fight…

Except for this new instinct, somehow even stronger than any of that,

_Tony said not to move._

Or, rather, Tony said not to move his _arms_ … Which meant Steve _was_ free to arch his back, as Tony slowly slid his hands under Steve’s t-shirt, up over his ribs, caressing Steve’s skin as he undressed him. Steve _could_ writhe helplessly under those devastatingly tender touches, as Tony traced his fingertips over Steve’s shoulders and chest. He could _try_ to rock up against Tony – his only reward an increasingly painful desperation, the _almost_ friction that was more unbearable than nothing. But he couldn’t help himself. Steve was so out of his mind with need, so tense and eager, that he simply couldn’t keep his body still-

Except his arms.

He _couldn’t_ move his arms.

Even when Tony dropped his head to pepper soft kisses along his neck, his hands still stroking gently over Steve’s skin. Steve groaned, and bucked his hips, and _longed_ to grab hold of Tony’s hair – but didn’t. He just lay there, like he was writhing against invisible restraints, as Tony began to kiss his way lower, moving agonisingly slowly over the column of his throat. Steve tried to arc up into it, tried to move his body against Tony’s hands, wanting so much to grab Tony with all his strength and throw him on his back and-

Still so overwhelmingly thrilled that he couldn’t.

Then he felt Tony’s palms sweep over the curve of his waist – gripping his hips just that bit more firmly. Steve let go of a startled breath, his fingers clawing helplessly at the pillows. And then Tony lifted his head to look at Steve, his eyes blown wide and his lips soft.

“You are _beautiful_ Steve,” he whispered – moving his hands away so that he could press himself up on his arms, shifting his weight so that he was kneeling over Steve. Steve whined pitifully at the loss of contact, raising his hips as Tony was moving away from them-

But then he saw Tony’s face come in line with his, looking down over him… and he stilled, briefly.

“The world has been so unkind to you,” Tony sighed.

And Steve felt his stomach clench.

That voice again.

This most forbidden of thoughts, this most secret desire…

“Not really,” he blurted – because he just couldn’t help it. Even though part of him was _dying_ to hear that…

Even if, _maybe_ , he _was_ lost, and lonely, and angry about what had happened to him…

Even if he _did_ long for some sort of comfort, any kind of reprieve, and maybe even resented the fact that he never got to have it... sometimes… just a little…

Even if, _very_ deep down, Steve did want someone to see it, to _feel_ it… to feel sorry for him-

He _couldn’t_.

Not that.

It went against every direct teaching and unconscious assumption about what it was to be a hero or a man or head of the Rogers household. All those lifelong pressures, those inherent burdens, all the rules about never showing weakness and never whining about his problems. That seemingly endless parade of 1940s American Role Models instructing him to put on a brave face and put the suffering of others first and to never let the bastards grind you down…

He just…felt _compelled_ to argue, to carry on-

“I really don’t feel so hard done by, right now.”

And Tony just smiled. An understanding… _superior_ smile – but not condescending, or entitled, or demeaning…

 _Genuinely_ superior…

And then he put a finger to Steve’s lips, and told him,

“Shh. Don’t speak until I tell you to, okay?”

And Steve just nodded automatically – because, obviously. Anything Tony said.

It wasn’t until Tony carried on talking that Steve realised-

“The world _has_ been so unkind to you”

-that meant he couldn’t argue.

…He wasn’t _allowed_ to jump in with a self-depreciating observation, or a deflection about duty, or the contributions of others.

…He _couldn’t_ stop Tony from saying all these things… that he so much wanted to hear…

He wasn’t responsible…

“I’m so sorry that you were so weak and ill as a child.” Tony whispered. “That you never knew your father, that you lost your mom.”

And Steve literally forgot to breathe. God, they were going _that_ far back? He’d not even thought of-

“I’m sorry for all the horrible things you saw during the war – all the terrifying things you had to go through, to go in the first place.” Tony carried on.

And Steve knew he _should_ say something about all the other men who went to war, how he’d had no right to do any less than them, how lucky he’d felt to be chosen for Project Rebirth-

But he couldn’t.

He wasn’t allowed to speak…

“I’m sorry you had to watch Bucky die. I’m sorry you had to make that horrible choice to crash that plane, to say goodbye to Peggy – for how frightened and sad you must have been,” Tony said softly – like he _really_ meant it. “I’m so sorry that SHIELD betrayed you, for how stressful and painful that whole thing was. I’m sorry for what Bucky went through. I’m sorry for how difficult and confusing and lonely every day must be, while you try to make your way in this world.”

And Steve heard his breathing crack painfully before he recognised that he was tearful – and then a sudden stab of panic as he realised that he wasn’t going to contain that sob-

“It’s okay baby,” Tony dropped his head to whisper close. “Everything’s okay, I promise. Relax.”

And Steve opened his mouth, and took a choked gulp of air, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes.

“You _are_ good, Steve,” Tony assured him. “You _are_ kind, and brave, and selfless – more than anyone else on earth, more than you ever owed anyone, more than you promised. You deserve to be happy, Steve, more than anyone – and it’s _so_ unfair that you’ve gone through this much, and they _do_ ask far too much of you, still… And you are still so good every day, to carry on with it.”

Steve breathed another sob, flexing his wrists against the air.

Oh God, this was-

_Oh, please Tony-_

“I see it, Steve,” Tony whispered, “I know.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped, before he could stop himself. Pinching his lips together against the pleading and promises that might have followed. Already admonishing himself, _don’t speak_.

But Tony just let his forehead rest against Steve’s, an understanding expression in his eyes when he said,

“Tell me what you want.”

Steve swallowed hard, a hot, salty taste coating his tongue.

Oh, God, there was so much he wanted-

Things he hadn’t realised, until now. Things there _were_ no words for, even if he was in any state to think of them.

“I want you to fuck me, _please_ ,” he begged, simply because it was the one thing he knew the name for. The only way he could think to explain, _I want you to have me, to take me, to consume me-_

 _Please_.

And Tony just smiled, like he understood.

Then he dropped his head to kiss Steve, softly and sweetly, resisting Steve’s efforts to lean up and kiss him deeper…

And then he murmured against Steve lips, almost incidentally,

“You can move your arms now.”

And apparently Steve’s arms heard that before he did – because suddenly, his hands were just all over Tony.

Tony hummed a delighted little smile against Steve’s mouth, leaning his head back briefly to let Steve tear his shirt up over his head – almost certainly ripping the fabric. And then he pressed in close to kiss Steve deeper, his entire body held firm against him in that same challenge,

_Go on, try._

And no matter what Steve did, he couldn’t move Tony, or rush him…

No matter how hard Steve clawed at him, or how hard he tried to pull him closer, or how hungrily he kissed him…

…Steve could do all of those things, as much as he liked, and it wouldn’t matter-

And then Tony went back to moving his way down Steve’s body, this time pressing hot, deep kisses along his jaw, and neck, and chest… Grinning against Steve’s skin, _amused_ , as Steve panted and writhed against him and pulled at his hair. Tony just carried on that same measured, careful pace, inch by inch over Steve’s stomach, as his hands stroked more roughly over his sides.

Steve felt Tony unfasten his jeans with quick, efficient fingers – and then press another warm, slow kiss to that newly exposed, especially sensitive skin. Steve let go of a sharp hiss, all of his muscles contracting as Tony let his lips trail an inch lower.

And then Tony curled his fingers over Steve’s waistband, and tugged his pants and his underwear down over his hips in one rough movement – never remotely distracted from what he was doing. Steve barked a surprised moan, his cock burning under the sudden exposure, his hips lifting in an offering, a _plea_ , to Tony. Steve tried to writhe upwards, tried to push at Tony’s shoulders and claw at his back-

All because he knew he couldn’t move him.

And of course Tony just carried on teasing him – pointedly ignoring Steve’s cock and moving to kiss his way along the crease of his legs, sucking gently at his thighs. He pushed Steve’s jeans further down his legs, almost offhandedly, letting Steve kick his way free of them.

Then firmly pushing his thighs further apart.

“Oh, God, please Tony, please,” Steve whimpered, spreading his legs further, lifting his hips.

And then Tony ran the tip of his tongue the length of Steve’s cock, like an electric shock-

And Steve didn’t even have chance to lose his breath before Tony had engulfed him completely, taking him right to the back of his throat.

“Tony!” Steve shouted, bucking his hips, twisting Tony’s hair into his fist, tensing his back against this sudden onslaught of sensation. The wet heat of Tony’s mouth so tight around him, the firm press of his tongue stroking back over Steve’s skin… Steve felt himself writhe involuntarily, and then another surge of dizzying pleasure as the head of his cock dragged over the back of Tony’s throat. There was a hot, compulsive ache, from deep in his thighs to the small of his back, something that almost hurt but that he wanted more of-

And then Tony pushed deeper, past the back of his throat, taking his entire length. The head of Steve's cock was suddenly engulfed by that impossible tightness, a searing pleasure shooting all the way through the core of him, piercing deep into his muscles. He let go of a shuddering cry, his hips already rocking upwards as that initial hit rolled through him, his body acting on autopilot, _more, more-_

And then a shrill alarm, seemingly out of nowhere-

_Stop, be careful, you’ll hurt him._

And then, almost immediately on top of that,

_Tony will tell you if you have to stop_

_Tony is strong, you don’t have to be careful_

_…Tony doesn’t have to breathe._

And then, as though to illustrate that very point, Tony began to move against Steve’s cock – never once pulling back entirely. Working Steve off against his throat in sharp, shallow motions. Steve let go of a wordless, primal moan as his head fell back against he pillows, his shoulders falling limp as all his tension began to collect in his hips. He thrust up sharply, his hand firm to the back of Tony’s head, hardly able to comprehend what he was actually doing-

But Jesus Christ, it felt _so_ good-

So hot and deep and intense, and so close, _so_ close-

And then he felt that heat surge from deep inside him, that wave of pleasure that just kept breaking as his orgasm crashed over him. He screamed – something that was meant to be Tony’s name, and ended up as an almost pained, _feral_ noise – as he ground himself up against Tony’s mouth, a brutal grip on Tony’s hair.

And then another, heavier wave washed over him, and Steve was simply knocked prone under the force of it.

He didn’t even know if he’d stayed conscious. For a few timeless moments, the world was just shadows and stars. There weren’t even any physical forces acting on Steve’s body anymore. He was just floating, suspended on this rich, thick sensation, his muscles weak and trembling, every inch of his skin tingling…

And then he felt Tony press a single, chaste kiss to his hipbone – and it stung.

Steve’s entire body was still so sensitive that he flinched at that lightest of touches, tightening painfully around that one point of contact.

He heard Tony hum a good-humoured smile – Steve could feel Tony looking at him, admiring his good work… When Steve finally managed to lift his head it felt heavier and lighter all at once, and the world seemed to sway in a not-unpleasant way…

And then he recognised that Tony was kneeling beside him on the bed now.

That, somewhere in the middle of Steve’s blissed out haze, Tony had finished undressing.

“You’re _so_ pretty,” Steve slurred, entirely mindlessly, his gaze sweeping upwards from the curve of Tony’s waist to those _glorious_ brown eyes. Reaching out to touch that perfect skin, just because he wanted to.

He let his hand rest on the sweep of Tony’s hip, his eyes coming to rest on the shape of Tony’s cock, pressed hard and wet to his stomach…

Steve’s balls clenched uncomfortably, jarring against the heady satisfaction he’d almost slipped into.

And then Tony’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a more lascivious smile as he slid his palm over the back of Steve’s hand, and moved it from his hip to his cock, curling his fingers around Steve’s and holding Steve’s grip in his own.

Steve felt a deep ache all the way through his pelvis – a need his body wasn’t quite ready to feel yet-

And then Tony looked right at him, and said, quite causally,

“That’s your blood, you know.”

And that more than stung.

Steve’s body jerked inwards, his cock pulsing with a sharp, searing pain. He was still so sensitive, still flooded with the afterglow of the last time Tony made him come-

But _Jesus_ , the thought of that-

And then Tony began sliding Steve’s hand over the length of him, slowly, letting Steve feel how thick and hard and warm he was…

_That’s your blood, you know_

Steve’s breath hitched pitifully as his cock throbbed hard again, grabbing hold of the sheets with his free hand, gripping so tight that his fingers went numb. Trying to disperse some of this agonising intensity.

And then Tony had let Steve’s hand run the length of him – run free of him.

Steve jerked his head up, aware only of the sudden loss of him-

So he was looking right at Tony when Tony instructed him,

“Roll over.”

It took Steve a second to comply with that one, simply because his body was so overwhelmed. But he clawed himself onto his stomach just as soon as he was physically able – rewarded by what was either a sharp pleasure or a dull pain when his still-sensitive cock was pressed against the sheets.

And then the gentlest touch against the inside of his thigh, like an static shock that shot all the way through to his spine – his legs falling apart before he’d even processed that that was the instruction. And then he felt the mattress dip beneath him, as Tony settled himself between Steve’s knees. And then Tony’s palm on the back of his neck, cool and comforting and confident… like a balm….

Steve let go of a soft, slow breath as Tony swept one hand down the length of his spine, and then back up to his neck again. He let that reassuring coolness radiate from Tony’s touch all the way down his back, and then through the rest of his body. Steve’s cock was still hard, and still burned with every slight movement, but that eye-watering sharpness began to ease. That tight coiling in his groin began to loosen, expanding into his back and hips, eventually settling into a deep, hot ache.

“That’s it darling, relax,” Tony instructed, as Steve’s body began to soften under his hands. And then he ran his thumbs just a little harder over the dense muscles below Steve’s shoulder blades, digging into that little store of tension there. Steve let go of a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in, feeling like his bones were falling apart under Tony’s movements, like he could just keep melting under this feeling of release until there was nothing left of him…

And that would be nice…

Tony carried on caressing Steve’s back, firmer now, rolling Steve’s skin from his fingers to the heel of his hand, working his way down from Steve’s shoulders. Steve could literally feel himself being taken apart piece by piece, until eventually he just sort of…floated away from himself. His eyes slipped shut, and a dreamy smile settled comfortably on his face, and he let that wonderful warmth soak right into him, all other thoughts completely forgotten.

And then Tony had worked his way down as far as the dip of Steve’s waist, his fingertips digging into Tony’s the soft skin over the curve of Steve’s hipbones, and Steve rocked into it instinctively-

And this time there was no sharpness to his reaction, as his cock dragged roughly over the sheets – just a hot, compulsive friction, that curled pleasantly into the general feeling of bliss flooding though him.

Steve let himself grind mindlessly against the bed, responding directly to animal instinct by now. He’d forgotten there was such a thing as shame, that there were any social constructs about this sort of thing. He just knew that it felt good to move like this, that he wanted it…

He felt Tony knead his fingers into hips, _much_ firmer now, sending a low roll of pleasure through Steve’s flesh. Steve moaned, deep in his chest, briefly torn between pushing himself up into Tony’s hands and pushing down against the sheets-

And then Tony dropped his head to press a slow, tender kiss to the small of Steve’s back, as he stroked his palms over the curve of Steve’s ass-

And Steve pushed _up_.

Or tried to – finding that the top half of his body was still heavy and sluggish, despite the rapidly building excitement. There was simply no question of Steve’s arms supporting his weight, or even of him lifting his head… But he did manage to brace his back just a bit, arching up as much as he could without _actually_ moving.

 _Already_ missing the pressure of the bed against his cock.

At least, until he felt Tony press another sweet little kiss to his skin, an inch lower, his hands slowly spreading Steve open.

Some of the tension returned to Steve’s shoulders then, as that lazy pleasure quickly sharpened into a more immediate desire. He managed to push himself up onto his knees, lifting his ass and spreading his legs wider, still rocking up in that same needy rhythm.

Tony’s lips trailing lower, his fingertips teasing oh-so-close-

Steve’s chest was heaving again, his skin awake and tingling, all of his muscles beginning to tense towards this growing sensation. His cock started to ache, already leaking steadily against his stomach, twitching every time Tony moved.

And then he felt the hot, wet slide of Tony’s tongue over his hole.

“Oh I, _nugh-_ God, Tony – _fuck_ ” was basically entirely muffled by the sheets, before it broke into a high, pleading whine. He jerked back more sharply, finally able to push himself up onto his elbows, trying to force himself back against Tony’s mouth-

But Tony still wouldn’t be moved.

He kept his grip hard against Steve’s skin, holding him basically still as he ran the flat of his tongue over him again, slower and firmer this time, letting the tip of his tongue flit over Steve’s rim before he pulled back.

Steve whimpered, and gasped, and writhed helplessly against Tony’s hands, as Tony dropped his head to lap at him again, shorter and sharper, the tip of his tongue pushing into him before it swept deftly along the edge of his hole, and then again, and again.

Steve let a stream of nonsensical noises fall over his lips, as he dropped his head and tried to rock against Tony’s mouth. He grabbed a hold of the duvet in two white knuckled fists, as pulse after pulse of warm, urgent pleasure surged through him.

Those searing shocks as the tip of Tony’s tongue pressed at his rim.

Those hot, deep waves that rolled through him, as Tony stroked the flat of his tongue over him again.

The petulant little spikes of need every time Tony pulled away, growing louder and more demanding with every passing second.

And then he felt the dull press of Tony’s fingertip against his hole, every nerve exploding as Tony caressed possessively over his rim, and then pushed into him maybe half an inch.

“Oh God yes please Tony yes,” Steve barked, trying to jerk back against him, his eyes stinging and his mouth suddenly dry. He let out an especially undignified howl of protest as Tony pulled away from him completely, which broke down into a pleading whimpering, as one second without contact became two, and then three…

And then the reassuring press of Tony’s palm against the inside of Steve’s thigh.

The sudden, cold shock of Tony’s fingertip teasing at his hole again, now wet with lube. And Steve had no idea where Tony had retrieved that from, or when, or-

And then Tony pushing his finger into him, in one smooth, slippery movement.

“Oh Tony please,” Steve panted, that tantalising hint of the stretch that he needed melting away from him, as his body relaxed to let Tony in. The same teasing hint that flared up and burned itself out, as Tony slid a second finger into him, and _twisted._ “Oh fuck, please Tony, please.”

Tony hummed an appreciative smile as he moved his hand inside Steve, curling his knuckles against Steve’s rim every time he pulled out, letting the tips of his fingers graze over Steve’s prostate every time he pushed inside.

“Please fuck me Tony, please,” Steve sobbed, not sure where the words were even coming from anymore. Tony buried his hand deep inside Steve then, and dragged a finger roughly over that sweet spot – and waited patiently for Steve to cry out, and shudder, and tremble to a helpless stop, before he leant close and whispered,

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you now?”

“Oh God yes, please yes, please,” Steve answered immediately, still grinding back against his fingers. He bit back a shout as Tony moved his hand away, that same desperate entreaty repeating over and over in his head,

_Please Tony please Tony please Tony_

And then Tony’s hands, pulling him into position, _so strong._

The blunt pressure of Tony’s cock, pressing against his hole.

That second of unbearable, static anticipation-

And then the sharp stretch of Tony forcing him open – pushing inside.

Steve gulped a ragged breath, clawing at the sheets as that burning pleasure crawled its way up his spine. Tony dug his fingertips into Steve’s hips just a little harder, pulling Steve into him at that same careful, measured pace. fucking him open, filling him up. Steve felt his vision start to cloud, his head swimming as Tony moved against him.

And then Steve felt Tony’s legs press up to the back of his thighs, Tony’s cock completely buried inside him, one hand moving from Steve’s hip to a firm grip on his shoulder.

He heard Tony sigh softly as he settled into him, his hands caressing into Steve’s skin. And then Tony rocked into him gently, a slow, shallow motion that dragged a deep, low sensation right from the core of him.

“Oh fuck Tony,” Steve breathed, as that heat ground through his hips, “Oh, Tony, ple- _ah!-_ ”

Cut short, when Tony slammed into him _hard_.

Steve didn’t have time to catch his breath, before Tony had pulled back and thrust into him again, and again, fucking him in a fast, solid rhythm. Sending wave after wave of feeling crashing through him, quicker than Steve could process them – soon pulling Steve into a state of mindless, desperate pleasure. He didn’t know how long he stayed lost there. How many minutes he spent just letting this sensation pulse through him, his cock weeping against his stomach, his fingers stinging under his grip on the sheets.

And then Tony slowed his pace just a little, moving to stroke both of his hands over Steve’s hips more deliberately, shifting his weight before he buried himself into Steve again. He hit Steve’s prostate, rolling his pelvis into him before he pulled back, more slowly. Steve let out a howling moan as the shock of it jolted through him, his balls drawing tight and cock throbbing sharply. A sudden burst of almost painful intensity that burned out into a needy physical hunger.

“More,” Steve whispered, far to quiet and breathy for Tony to have heard it. But Tony pushed into him again anyway, keeping to that new, relaxed pace. Pushing into Steve firm and deep – hitting that same spot again. And again. And again. Steve started out screaming sharply with every thrust, but pretty soon his lungs couldn’t keep up with it, and he was left to pant silently as every nerve in his body lit up over and over and over.

That same frantic hunger for more, growing more painful and desperate with every second. That feeling of being repeatedly pushed up against the very edge of himself, never quite being able to push through it. The feeling of complete and total fullness swelling up in him again and again – the feeling of falling away from it over and over. The frustration growing at the same pace as the pleasure. That pressure building, under his skin.

And then Tony moved his hands so that he could lean over Steve, shifting just enough that he could thrust into him more sharply and still hit that same place.

Steve hiccupped a startled little cry as his vision flashed with stars. _So_ good. So cruelly, _maddeningly_ close.

And suddenly, Steve was so aware of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He could feel the blood moving through his body, throbbing hot in his cock, pulsing in his throat…right there, just under his skin…

So close to Tony’s lips, now.

And that pressure in him just kept building, as Tony pushed him closer and closer to the edge. That feeling of being right at his limit and still being filled, wanting so much to break.

Like there was just too much blood pumping through him,

Like it would have felt so good right now, to-

Tony pushed into him again, dropping his head so that Steve could feel the heat of his breath ghost over his neck as he pulled back.

And Steve’s shoulders just fell from under him, his head lifting of its own accord – _instinctively_ baring his neck, immediately surrendering to Tony’s mouth.

He could _feel_ the blood rushing up along his throat, his skin burning with the abundance of it.

He just _knew_ what he wanted, how good it would feel, that he belonged to Tony and was supposed to belong to Tony and _wanted_ to belong to Tony.

He _knew_ what that meant.

“Please do it Tony, please, please,” he begged, his voice so rough and dark it wasn’t even his own anymore. “ _Please_.”

And Tony pulled into him hard, letting that burst of pleasure reach its peak, waiting until Steve was on that knife edge, before he whispered,

“Not yet, sweetheart. Not just yet”

And Steve finally _broke._

That need in him tightened so sharply that it snapped, flooding his entire body with an immediate, overwhelming release. His arms just fell from under him as he came hard over his own chest, leaving a thick streak over the pillows in front of him – too dazed to wonder why he hadn’t fallen flat on his face. He wasn’t aware of anything but that relief rolling through him, his hips jerking back mindlessly as he tried to ride through this sensation.

He felt Tony grind into him, a fierce growl echoing from low in his chest, another searing thrill running up along Steve’s spine. Steve choked out a startled sob, as a sharp heat twisted low in his gut, his cock stinging as he carried on coming, soaking the sheets. And then Tony buried himself inside Steve, he legs still rocking against him as he came.

The second wave of sensation crashed over Steve a moment after Tony stopped moving, like the wall of exhaustion that doesn’t hit an athlete until two feet _after_ the finishing line. A tremor of aftershocks ran though him, his muscles tightening and releasing erratically, his breath catching in his throat. And Tony just held Steve firm against him, supporting all of his weight by now, as it ran its course. Until at last every part of Steve had been broken down, until every last drop of tension had been dragged out of him, and he just fell loose and heavy into Tony’s hands.

He was vaguely aware of Tony breathing a good natured laugh, as he lowered Steve down onto the sheets. He felt Tony pull out of him, and the cool feeling of the air against his thighs. And then… he might’ve lost a second or two, there… before he slowly became aware that the duvet was sticking to his stomach, and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. That his hair was uncomfortably hot and damp, and his hands were shaking, and face was wet with tears-

That he was, in short, a complete wreck.

And he giggled. He didn’t even know _why_.

“Hey you,” Tony smiled, from somewhere to the left of him. Steve tensed his arms, thinking he would try to roll over and look at him – and quickly recognised how ridiculous that was.

“Hey,” he slurred into the sheets instead, grinning when he heard Tony chuckle softly at him.

“I’m going to be gone for like a minute, okay?” Tony told him warmly, leaning in a little closer. “I’m going to go get water. Okay?”

And as much as Steve was immediately resistant to the idea of Tony going away, for however long… he was _so_ thirsty, now that Tony mentioned it.

And…If Tony thought that was a good idea…

“‘Kay,” Steve agreed heavily, letting his eyes slip shut as Tony climbed off of the bed.

Letting his head swim, letting his body just pool there against the mattress… letting the memory of those words roll through his head again.

_Not yet sweetheart. Not just yet._

“Hey,” Tony said again – and this time Steve was just about able to raise his head, to find that Tony was standing right there next to his side of the bed. Steve began some pointless attempt to shuffle over, to give Tony more room-

And then he felt Tony slide his arm under him in one smooth, confident motion, somehow managing to roll Steve over as he lifted him up. Steve squeaked another surprised little giggle as Tony took all of his weight under one arm, holding him there while he tugged the wet duvet out from under him and threw it to one side. Still supporting Steve against his body as he climbed onto the bed next to him, and guided him to lie down against his chest.

“Here,” Tony smiled kindly, handing Steve one of the water bottles that he’d apparently put down on the bedside table. Keeping a firm hand to the back of Steve’s head while he drank in long, slow gulps. Steve let his chest thrum happily, as the sweet, crisp taste of it soothed his throat and cooled his lungs, his heavy panting finally coming under control. And then he let Tony take the empty bottle from him and toss it away, Steve’s head lolling helplessly against Tony’s side as he pulled in slow, cleansing breaths. He shivered happily as Tony ran a hand through his hair, stroking the dense heat away. And then Tony whispered, very softly,

“Head up.”

So, Steve tilted his head up.

He didn’t even think about it. He didn’t even open his eyes. He just lifted his head as far as his heavy shoulders would let him – because Tony had told him to.

He only briefly tensed when he felt the caress of damp cloth against his neck. Relaxing against it before he worked out what Tony was doing, for no other reason than it was Tony doing it. Tony, stroking a warm washcloth over his throat, and chest, and stomach, carefully washing the stickiness away. And it was just so… _nice_. Steve let a serene smile settle on his face, writhing against Tony’s motions very gently, letting the cool air run over his freshly clean skin. And by the time Tony set the cloth aside, Steve just felt so refreshed and comfortable and… _right_. Like he’d been reset to zero, like every part of him was resting in its natural state.

He let Tony pull him closer, snuggling happily against his chest, a delighted freedom occurring to him as he realised – he could carry on falling now.

Everything was clean, and secure, and good, now.

Nothing ached. Nothing worried him.

Steve let his eyes grow heavier, his body sinking deeper into the warmth of Tony.

“You are so good, Steve,” Tony purred, like a lullaby, stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair. “You are perfect. Beautiful, and kind, and strong. And you deserve to be happy.”

And Steve might’ve liked to listen to that, but he was already too far under to drag himself back. He could only be carried along by the soft affection in Tony’s voice, letting it soak into him, as he fell deep into sleep.

_You are good._

_You are safe._

_You are loved._

*

Steve was still sleeping deeply in Tony’s arms by the time the sun set that evening, his body heavy and warm against Tony’s chest.

Tony had been staring at him for hours by then, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair, occasionally whispering endearments and promises, even though he knew Steve couldn’t hear him.

Whispering that he loved him, over and over – _because_ he knew Steve couldn’t hear him.

Wondering, idly, what would happen if he said it when Steve _could_ hear him...

It had taken all these hours for that all-encompassing high to wear off, even a little bit. But, _very_ slowly, some basic cognitive activity was starting to take form in Tony’s head. Eventually, Tony recognised that he knew what he was thinking about, what he had been thinking about for a little while now…

That he knew exactly what Steve had been asking for.

_Do it Tony – please._

And Tony was beginning to remember that it should bother him – that there was something historically concerning about the idea of Steve asking Tony to bite him-

That he _should_ be concerned by how naturally and confidently he’d responded.

How sure he was of what Steve was asking.

The fact that he wasn’t frightened or disgusted or confused by that request.

How immediately he’d known the answer.

_Steve isn’t ready for that just yet…_

All of which suggested that they were actually on a completely different path to the one his day-time head was desperately trying to push towards, that they were both already changed far more than Tony had realised, that there _was_ some deep and primal instinct inside Tony…

And all of that would worry him usually. He knew that.

But then he’d glance down at Steve’s perfect, pretty face… his lips so full and soft when he was sleeping…

Tony couldn’t help it if he was still overcome by a pure feeling of total _peace_ when he saw Steve like that.

He couldn’t _make_ himself worry, however rational that reaction might be.

Whatever he was likely to think later, right now Tony just _felt_ complete, and calm, and happy.

And then he must’ve reached that middle ground. The point between emotional elation and rational thought… an aware sort of dream-state, or a still-hazy wakefulness…

Because at some point he found himself _thinking_ that…

He was _meant_ to look after Steve.

That it actually _made sense_ , as well as just feeling right.

That he might be able to picture it…

That if Tony were to just dedicate himself entirely to making Steve happy, and keeping Steve safe, and making sure that Steve had everything he wanted… that there really would be _no_ downside to that – no _rational_ reason to rob him of this most heartfelt desire…

And Tony kept trying to tell himself that this couldn’t possibly be real. That these daydreams would clear as soon as his head did, that he’d be able to think of all those anxieties and contingencies when he wasn’t high.

That he already knew all the reasons he couldn’t be what Steve needed, that it would be unfair to let Steve tie himself to him…all those risks Steve would be taking… Tony tried to believe that he’d remember the importance of all those things, in time.

But the thing was… he _remembered_ them now. It wasn’t as though he was so blissed out that he’d forgotten the realities of his life. If anything…Tony felt like he understood everything _more_ now, that he really saw himself…

And _still_ , he could see this answer.

This complete, provable… _satisfying_ answer, that somehow spoke to his elevated mood and his most long-held concerns, and everything in between.

Something that still felt true, whatever perspective he viewed it from.

_If I’m just supposed to look after Steve…whatever that means, as time goes on…_

Then it wouldn’t matter what _else_ Tony had to change or compromise or work around.

Then it wouldn’t necessarily cost Steve anything… If Tony would be happy to adapt to whatever Steve needed, at the time.

…Then it would finally make sense why this awful thing had happened to him, why Tony had ended up exactly here, exactly like this.

…Then it might actually mean that… Tony was glad it had happened. That he really _wouldn’t_ go back and change any of it, just in case it changed something about this perfect, _destined_ moment…

…That couldn’t be right.

Tony knew it couldn’t be _real_.

But he couldn’t help it, if it _felt_ real-

And then Steve stirred softly against him, his eyes fluttering gently before he settled back into Tony’s chest – and Tony had to take a second to let that overwhelming affection surge through him.

_Oh God, I love him._

In such a powerful, life-affirming way.

With such impossible, desperate intensity.

So much so that it _had_ to make sense of everything else. Something so strong that it had to be the point of any story it was a part of, that it had to be the ultimate priority...

_Do it Tony, please._

…Oh, that was going to be the sticking point, Tony just knew it.

The thing he’d feel bad about, when he was capable of feeling bad again.

Even now, in this state of eerie enlightenment, Tony couldn’t quite make sense of that impulse… He might not have been up to feeling guilty over it, but that didn’t mean he could _understand_ it.

He couldn’t make it _right_.

Everything else, yeah – at least for the time being. Right now, as ridiculous as it sounded, Tony really could believe that he and Steve could have something. That it could balance out and be good and make sense… Even if it was all the product of this euphoria, even if it did evaporate in the morning, right now he could see it…

But biting Steve?

Tony couldn’t picture that one, how it could end up as anything other than monstrous, how it could possibly be good for Steve in the long run.

…But he knew he’d been able to understand it a moment ago.

That there was a time when Tony had understood that impulse completely, when it had made more sense than anything. A moment in which Tony knew absolutely everything about it, and didn’t even think it was odd that he knew it – a moment in which Tony was the preeminent expert, entirely confident in himself.

A moment in which he’d _known…_ Steve wasn’t ready

…yet.

And Tony had forgotten whatever sense that made, and remembered that such things were a very big deal, usually…

And somehow none of that was able to pull him out of this heady, glowing bliss.

Because Steve _was_ right there, sleeping peacefully against him…

And right now that just felt _so_ right-

Steve stirred again, and this time his eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light…

_Beautiful…_

“What time is it?” Steve murmured, warm against Tony’s skin.

_Adorable…_

“J?” Tony passed the enquiry on, still gazing at Steve, his fingers still curling in Steve’s hair.

“7.48pm, Sir,” JARVIS replied cheerfully – and Steve sighed, and snuggled closer into him.

 _Darling_ …

“…Can I stay here?” Steve asked, softly… _shyly_ … And Tony’s heart clenched hard in his chest.

_Mine._

“Of course, you can,” Tony breathed, his voice heavy with feeling, his fingers curling possessively around Steve’s shoulders.

Because, okay, Tony _knew_ that he’d already listed a thousand reasons not to get close to Steve.

He remembered thinking of a million things that he wanted for Steve... he remembered there being reasons he could never be those things...

He knew that he’d just lived through a moment in which the thought of biting Steve felt totally natural. _Part of a process,_ even. Something that he’d felt able to put into context and consider as though it was actually a reasonable, _possible_ thing–

And he _knew_ all of that was bad, obviously.

But that didn’t stop him _feeling_ totally devoted to Steve.

It didn’t quell this idea that… maybe that was _the_ answer…

"Of course you can stay here, sweetheart," Tony promised.

"Always."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the personal introspection 😂 But please be aware, that both Steve and Tony are still working things out, and while some of these thoughts are things they really believe and stand by - others may be revisited at a later date...  
> And I really hope you enjoy it!

Steve was halfway between the fourteen and fifteenth floor of the Tower, foot already raised to take his next step, when it occurred to him that he didn’t have the first clue where he was going.

He paused, and felt the warmth of mild exertion pool in his lungs and his calves… and realised that he must’ve been walking around in this particular daydream for a while now. He smiled, blushing in front of himself-

He’d found himself in this situation _a lot_ , in the four days since he last saw Tony.

Steve gave his head a self-conscious little shake, and decided to carry on up to the breakroom. It seemed as good a place as any to sit down for a few minutes, and… well, carry on thinking about Tony.

Even after four days of constant, focused thinking, Steve still felt like he had so much to go through. So much of his life to reconsider, so many details to analyse, so many questions to ask himself. And he’d felt like that before, of course. Actually, Steve had felt like that for most of his adult life…

But this was the first time it’d been _fun_.

And, yeah, okay, some of it had been confusing, or anxious, or even a little unnerving.

The fact that Steve had been so completely vulnerable, so _needy_ , in front of another person… in front of himself. The fact that Steve had _liked_ being noticed and indulged and taken care of. That was all very new. It went against a lot of fundamental instincts and life-long teaching…

The fact that Steve was now part way into _something_ with Tony Stark, and he didn’t know what to call it, or what Tony would call it, or what was going to happen next. The fact that Steve _really_ didn’t want to screw this up. Just how very happy this could make him, potentially, if everything went right… That was a little bit nerve wracking.

…The fact that Steve had wanted Tony to bite him.

How _much_ Steve had wanted it, how sure he’d been that it was _right_ , how… God, he didn’t even know what to call the feeling that had flooded through him in that moment. Whether it was a grand flash of spiritual enlightenment or the recognition of the most basic, animal impulse. Something unlike anything he’d ever felt before. That felt like something he _should_ be confused, and anxious and unnerved by, at least. It felt like something that he should think very seriously about.

…And that giddy little voice that kept reminding him, _Tony didn’t say no_.

… _he said not yet._

…Steve should probably get around to feeling a bit unsure about that side of things, at some point.

But, Jesus, even that stuff was fun now.

Steve was used to lying awake all night, trying to remember every detail of the day, and analysing every possible interpretation, and guessing at every potential outcome – and usually, _all_ of that was shit. Usually, those thoughts ground through his head, heavy and weary and somehow still impossible to quiet. Hours lost in thoughts about how to limit the damage, how to make the most of the ruins, how to move past the pain.

But lying awake all night and fretting over Tony was just _different_. The ideas just tripped through Steve’s head, one to the next, light and easy and intriguing. Trying to quiet them in the early hours felt more like resisting temptation than calming anxiety. And, just for once, there were nice details and positive interpretations and reasons to hope-

Things to hope _for_.

Images of a potential future with Tony, being able to take care of Tony and make Tony happy… it being okay to need Tony, to let Tony take care of him. Daydreams about kissing Tony, and falling asleep curled up against Tony’s chest, and baring his neck for Tony…

And it _could_ happen…

It could actually be _good_ , this time.

By then Steve had reached the breakroom, which, thankfully, was empty. Therefore he didn’t have to bother rearranging his features, or trying to remember what he did for a living, or any of that tedious stuff – he could just float over to the couch, and flop out into it, and fall back into his happy little dreamworld. God, everything still felt so much better. His limbs still felt looser, and mind felt freer, and that tension still hadn’t returned to his shoulders. This was a sort of comfort he hadn’t felt in years.

_Hm, so, where was I up to?_

Steve was fairly sure he _had_ been musing over his out-of-character surrender to submission, when he last snapped back to reality, back there on the stairs. That well warn little loop-

Feeling anxious that he’d let his guard down so completely, that he’d let himself be imperfect and vulnerable and maybe even selfish… Remembering all the people who’d told him to ‘tough it out’, all the times he’d told _himself_ that… Wondering if he should feel at least little bit embarrassed. Wondering if he should maybe feel guilty. And, purely out of habit, wondering if Tony would think any less of him because of it-

Which would usually lead to a rush of wonderful, warm reassurance, as Steve remembered – _felt_ – that trust he had in Tony. That complete faith that Tony saw who he was, behind whatever he was doing in any given moment. Steve _knew_ that Tony wouldn’t think any less of him for a moment of weakness-

Which would in turn lead to that static electric burst of ideas… That maybe it _wasn’t_ weak, to have given in like that. That maybe there wasn’t even anything for Tony to look past, that maybe Steve didn’t have to feel guilty or ashamed at all.

And then the hesitant excitement of wondering if there were more possibilities than he’d previously realised… other choices besides ‘live for other people’ and ‘live for yourself’. Maybe there were ways of doing both. Maybe there were moments that weren’t one or the other – maybe that was okay. Maybe Steve _could_ be strong for someone, and still need them to be strong for him, sometimes. Maybe Steve could dedicate himself to helping people, and still be able to take something for himself.

And _that_ would then lead to a giddy rush of nervous hope, as Steve began to think about how that might look with Tony – as he found he _was_ able to picture it.

Tony, who was still unquestionably powerful in Steve’s mind, even when he pictured wrapping Tony up in blankets.

Tony, who hadn’t made Steve feel any less of a hero when he’d had him pinned naked to a bed…

Steve had always been somewhat confused by those two, apparently competing impulses – that desire to find someone he could look after, and that desire to find someone who could look after him. He’d always felt slightly guilty over both of them. And now… it wasn’t so much that Steve had worked it all out yet. But he felt like he was starting to. Like he could _see_ some of this…

Which was usually the start of other, less focused thoughts… Sometimes, at that point, Steve would just go from ‘pinned naked to a bed’ and proceed to lose endless minutes reliving tiny little details of that night. Sometimes he’d think back to that first time, in Tony’s workshop – getting to see it all anew, now that he had all this hope and excitement to apply to it. Sometimes Steve would start daydreaming about nights they _could_ share, maybe. Imagining all the ways in which Tony could hold him down and take control of him and dominate him completely… And all the scenarios in which Steve could sweep Tony into him and dote on him and _give_ to him. Thinking that they could be any of those things. That maybe they _could_ be all of those things...

And Steve couldn’t remember now what part of that process he’d reached, when he’d paused in the stairway to think about where the hell he was… But he decided to skip to the end.

He stretched out on the couch, curling his toes happily and letting go of a particularly dramatic sigh. His eyes slipped shut, as he thought back to waking up in Tony’s arms… The warmth in Tony’s voice, _of course you can stay here, sweetheart. Always._

That might have been Steve’s favourite part.

And, okay, yeah – he kept deciding that every part was his favourite part… But there really was something especially magical about those hours they’d spent together afterwards. Maybe even _because_ it was so… ordinary? Well, no, obviously that wasn’t the right word, but… Lying there with Tony, watching the evening slowly melt into night, letting Tony play with his hair while they talked about absolutely nothing… At the time, it felt so familiar and natural, like they did this every day. Steve hadn’t felt anxious about it ending, he’d not felt especially overwhelmed that it was happening at last, he’d not thought about what he was _supposed_ to do. He’d found himself talking to Tony about politics, and his childhood, and his pet hates – all things that were too personal and too controversial to be comfortable, usually. Topics that Steve would instinctively shy away from were suddenly just… things that came to mind.

They’d even talked about sex – their experiences, and their opinions, and their casual observations about the way the world seemed to work. The things that Steve had avoided thinking about for years, things he assumed he didn’t have the words for, things he didn’t know he thought. Things he’d found himself listening back to in the days since, elated and excited to discover that it was all still true. That he’d not just _felt_ a sense of understanding, in the moment – he was actually working some of this stuff out…

Maybe that he’d always known some of this.

In the last four days, Steve had found himself remembering a pretty independent minded kid back the thirties and forties. Someone who used to think about _everything_ , and who had a mindset and a moral code and an ever developing set of personal principles. He remembered questioning the labels and rules his _own_ world had insisted on – he remembered wondering whether most of these things needed social rules at all. Whether a lot of so-called _public morality_ wasn’t just an unfair attempt to control certain people.

And then he woke up in this alien future, feeling like he didn’t understand anything… like he was an interloper to this world, like he didn’t have the basic understanding of current morality to challenge it… Like he was always missing some important bit of backstory, or mistranslating a crucial phrase, or half a step behind the conversation. Just always _feeling_ as though he wasn’t quite a part of anything.

But now…

Now Steve found himself thinking that he’d been proven right on a lot of things. All those things he was considered deluded for believing, by literally everyone – all those things he wasn’t even allowed to say, because it was clear what the response would be… Back then, it was pretty unusual to wonder why only women were expected to be virgins on their wedding night. It was rare for any man to consider that his partner _might not_ want to stay at home and raise his kids. It was positively unheard of, for anyone to question the immorality of a man having sex with another man… And yet Steve had thought all of that, at one point. He’d never questioned his right to think about it, he’d never let the popular opinion sway him. And the _whole_ world had rolled their eyes at him, and told him he’d understand when he grew up or that ‘it just doesn’t work that way’… and then he’d woken up to discover that actually, being different to the entire world didn’t _necessarily_ mean he was wrong.

Now Steve found himself looking back over the last year of his life and wondering what exactly he’d been so afraid of. That wordless anxiety about certain topics, that instinct to flinch away from certain questions… Always _feeling_ like it would be so bewildering and frightening and humiliating to get himself tangled up in those particular thoughts, that he wouldn’t be able to work it out, that he’d be failing yet another test, that he wouldn’t like any of the answers he did come up with…

But, really…

Why would it be any harder to think about that stuff now than it was then?

Why should he feel obliged to have an answer to everything, when he hadn’t in the forties?

Why couldn’t be confident of his own damn opinion on sex – even if he still wasn’t entirely confident using emojis? Why did he feel like he had to understand the whole world before he could try to understand his own view on certain parts of it? He’d never felt like that before…

…Had Steve spent a year feeling like a failure because he didn’t _fit in_?

…Was that what this feeling was?

_…But I don’t even give a shit about fitting in-_

Steve was rudely jolted out of his thoughts by the sounds of someone bursting into the breakroom. He tensed his shoulders and raised his head… and then relaxed when he saw that it was Bucky, striding over to the refrigerator with a sense of purpose.

Bucky was half-way across the room before he noticed Steve. His step stuttered to a pause so that he could give Steve a little wave of acknowledgement, a non-verbal _hey_ …

And there was also a smug smile, which might have been for Steve’s benefit, or might simply have been because Steve was there.

Steve just smiled back.

Bucky knew _some_ of what had happened with Tony. He still didn’t know anything about Steve donating his blood – partly, because Tony had asked Steve not to say anything, and partly… well, because it was personal. Which was a very strange thing for Steve to think when talking to _Bucky…_ But that whole… side of things, felt like something Steve wanted to keep for himself. Something he couldn’t explain properly, and therefore didn’t want to be out there at all.

Something that was for him and Tony, excluding _all_ others.

Which Steve liked, actually. It was something Steve had been searching for his entire life… But, obviously, it made it difficult to explain certain parts of it. The overwhelming pride Steve felt, remembering Tony’s skin shimmering in the sunlight. The look on Tony’s face… The bodily commitment Steve felt to Tony now, the sense of purpose, the fantasies about Tony sinking his teeth into Steve’s neck…

Basically, Steve had had avoid that whole topic.

But he had explained _some_ of what was going on – enough for Bucky to immediately recognise and understand the puddle he’d just found Steve in. Steve bit back a little giggle, thinking back to last… Saturday, was it? Bucky bursting into Steve’s room, clearly prepped to force Steve into an awkward and angsty conversation that neither of them _wanted_ to have … Only to find Steve still dazed and love-struck and desperate to talk about the boy he liked.

Bucky had been almost as excited as Steve was by this latest turn of events.

“Hey,” Steve said, letting his eyes fall shut again. “You going somewhere?”

“Nat roped me into training with the Maximoffs,” Bucky answered, as he carried on over to the fridge. “Why, what are you doing for the rest of the day?”

Steve could hear the particular smile when Bucky said it. Knowing, and teasing – and genuinely happy for him.

“This,” Steve conceded, with a grin. He heard the dull gasp of the refrigerator door being pulled open, the muted banging of Bucky grabbing several water bottles from the bottom shelf.

“Nat said to invite you along,” Bucky added in an entirely rhetorical way. And Steve very briefly entertained the idea, purely because it was his instinct to help… But, no. He was far too comfortable with his current thoughts – his current facial expression and affect. The thought of trying to look causal, and making small talk, and having to think about something else… nah.

“I’m good, thanks,” Steve replied. He heard Bucky huff a little laugh, _well, obviously._ And then he felt the shadow of Bucky standing over him, and he forced his eyes open.

“Well, if you’re done with… _this,_ later, I finally let Sam talk me into playing Call of Duty,” Bucky smiled, like he knew full well that it was a perfunctory offer. “But just so you know, if you’re not there by ten, I’m switching to the strip-version of the game.”

And Steve _was_ very curious as to how the hell you played ‘Strip Call of Duty’… But not enough to postpone his daydreaming any longer.

“Duly noted,” he said instead, waving a goodbye as Bucky strolled out the door again.

Steve let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He took a slow, comfortable breath, and waited to see where his mind would take him…

And he remembered his conversation with Bucky. He thought back to Bucky asking him, _so, do I need to find myself a new default fuck?_

In the same tone that a mother-in-law might use, when she dared to mention that she was thinking of turning her spare room into a nursery…

Bucky had said it as though he was cautiously optimistic that the answer might be yes. And, beyond that underlying frisson of hope, he’d seemed quite casual about the question-

It was Steve who had been momentarily thrown by it.

He’d not even thought about… _that_.

He’d waved the question aside at the time – mainly, because he’d wanted to carry on talking about how absolutely perfect Tony’s hands were… But Steve found himself pausing to think about it now.

… It came easier than he was expecting it to.

He’d _still_ naturally assumed that because this subject was fundamentally rooted in all those areas he struggled with – sex, and social expectations, and interpersonal relationships – obviously, it would be confusing and frustrating to think about it…

And yet here he was, just… Thinking about it.

Remembering a _way_ of thinking…

Steve knew it wouldn’t be ‘against the rules’ for him to sleep with Bucky again. If nothing else, he and Tony had actually discussed it. Steve had casually mentioned all sorts of details about his relationship with Bucky, as and when they came up, while he and Tony were chatting. And Tony had accepted those details as easily as he accepted everything else – exactly as easily as Steve had been expecting him to – and followed the conversation wherever it happened to lead.

And at no point had it led anywhere near the subject of this being the start of something, or a permanent relationship, or this being exclusive…

Steve knew, on paper – whether in 1945, or 2012 – he’d at least have a cast iron case that it wasn’t _cheating_.

…But that wasn’t the point.

…That had never been the point, Steve remembered now.

Steve remembered that he’d _always_ kind of thought that faithfulness was a question of intention rather than action. That the point was finding someone who didn’t _want_ to be with anyone but him, not just someone who would resist that temptation for fear of the consequences. Someone who’d make Steve feel like he’d _rather_ go home alone than be with anyone else.

And that had been out of place in the forties too, by the way. Steve’s few attempts to explain that point of view had been met by every reaction from baffled amusement to borderline outrage. People who assumed he was trying to excuse infidelity, when he was actually trying to explain that he’d remain faithful even if he _did_ have an excuse. People who assumed he was judging the rules of their relationship – when really, he’d only ever tried to explain the sort of commitment _he_ was looking for.

…Steve had always known that faithfulness was simply an expression of one type of love. Not the only type of love, not the type that was best for everyone… But the type Steve wanted. And Steve had always known that, for it to have any value _to him_ , it would have to be about how he felt, and not simply what he could justify.

Steve still felt like a pledge of fidelity was something for him to make, rather than for him to negotiate with Tony. It still felt weird, that they were supposed to have a discussion, _I won’t if you won’t…_

And Steve didn’t know if Tony would understand any of this,

And he didn’t know if Tony would agree with it,

And he didn’t know if _everyone_ would think this sounded ridiculous… still…

But this was what Steve thought.

Just like he’d thought it, the last time the whole world disagreed with it.

Steve _still_ thought this was simply a question of whether he wanted to be with anyone else.

…And he didn’t.

_…Huh._

Steve let go of a surprised little giggle, as everything just sort of fell into place in his head. 

In an instant, Steve could see back over months and months with Tony, suddenly recognising that slow process of committing to him. That this devotion wasn’t something Steve had pledged on sight, or been saving for a specific moment… That this feeling had grown slowly, as Steve saw more of the Tony, as they shared more with each other. That Steve had been giving himself to Tony, piece by piece, for weeks now…

And somewhere between then and now, Steve had given himself entirely.

He thought of the strange sense of discomfort that he’d started to feel the last time he was with Bucky, that feeling that it was crossing a line to spend the night there, that realisation that he’d spent the whole time thinking about Tony… And maybe it was because of the night he and Tony had spent together, or maybe it was just the way the process had unfolded, but somewhere between then and now, Steve had finally reached _that_ point.

Steve thought of sleeping with Bucky again, and… he just didn’t want to. It felt wrong now, in a way it hadn’t before.

Even if Tony wouldn’t care.

Even if Tony didn’t feel the same way.

Even if literally no one else understood why.

…So, that kinda meant he’d just gotten into a relationship, all on his own, here in the breakroom.

Steve laughed again. He wasn’t sure what else to do with this revelation.

Wow.

That was… big.

That was… Good? Was it good? It was the good things about it that struck Steve first… The fact that he’d finally found someone he could want like that. The fact that Steve _could_ see himself in a relationship, after all this time simply assuming it would never work. The fact that he’d just sat here and thought this all through, without it being a big deal….

That was…all kind of amazing, actually…

Oh, but…

As well as all that… Well, Steve hadn’t _actually_ thought through how any sort of relationship would work. Not _really_. He’d barely made a start. And now he was… in one?

And… God, this seemed like such a big moment, and the only person he wanted to tell was Tony… and he wasn’t sure he should. And that was weird, right? To have committed himself to someone and not be sure he should mention it to _them_ …

_But I don’t know if Tony feels the same, or if he’ll think it’s far too soon for something like that, if it’ll freak him out._

_Maybe it is just far too soon for something like that – _

_That’s what anyone would say. Here. In the forties. They’d say three dates minimum and only after you’d talked about it._

…But Steve had never cared what ‘everyone would say’.

And the fact was, if Tony _didn’t_ feel the same, if Tony still wanted to be with other people, it wouldn’t change what Steve had just discovered.

Although… yeah, that would hurt… Steve had just recognised that it _did_ hurt to think of Tony being with anyone else. It wouldn’t have, a few months ago – even though Steve was already in love with him by then. It might not have hurt last week. But since the night they’d spent together, and everything Steve had worked out afterwards… yeah, the thought of Tony kissing someone else made Steve’s heart clench, now.

…And Steve even liked _that_.

He liked that he _wanted_ Tony to want only him, that he wanted to be _everything_ to Tony. He liked that it _mattered_ -

But more to the point. Steve wasn’t going to keep having sex with other people – sex he already knew he wouldn’t enjoy, that he didn’t even _want_ to have – simply because Tony hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet.

He didn’t _have_ to know how Tony felt, to know how he wanted Tony to feel.

Steve was sure there was a lot of this they really _should_ discuss – but they didn’t have to do that bit for him to be sure of _this_.

Steve grinned, and stood up – suddenly imbued with too much energy to stay still. He was barely aware that he’d started pacing, as let himself get completely carried away with this idea.

…He liked this.

Maybe he wouldn’t, when it started to get complicated and awkward. When he finally thought of some question he couldn’t answer. When he started thinking about all the worst-case scenarios – or when he walked right into one of them. When he jumped to a wrong conclusion or said the wrong thing and fucked the whole thing up…

That would probably suck.

But right now, it just felt … _nice._ Exciting, and liberating, and…

 _Fun_.

And he wanted to _do_ something about it.

Steve was suddenly so full of enthusiasm and interest and motivation that he just had to… do _something_ , he-

Wondered what he should do.

And the difference was subtle, but so important… he didn’t wonder what he was _supposed_ to do. He didn’t stop to ask himself how romance worked in the 21st Century, or what general rules he might be breaking, or worry that he wouldn’t know the modern words for it.

He wondered what _he_ should do. Right now, about Tony…

And he remembered Tony looking up at him, his skin still warm from the sunlight.

_Do you want to kiss me?_

_So why haven’t you?_

And then Steve heard a voice in his head… his _own_ voice…. From _so_ long ago…

_You want to call him, right?_

_So…?_

*

“ _Jesus-fuck-fuck-fuck-damnit!”_

Tony threw his arm out, his face creased in pain and anger, his other hand gripping the edge of the workbench hard enough to dent it.

“Do you require some assistance, sir?” JARVIS enquired, coolly.

“No, I’m fine,” Tony hissed, once he’d checked that he hadn’t knocked the Bunsen burner over in his panic. _Then_ he checked his palm, and the angry red welt he’d just created by _putting his hand over an open fucking flame._

_Jesus Christ._

He _really_ had to start paying more attention.

He gritted his teeth, giving his injured hand another shake before he checked it again… Still a little bit surprised by how quickly it healed. That he could actually _see_ the skin growing pink and shiny over the wound.

…And he really _shouldn’t_ be surprised by that, given that he’d set himself on fire, what was it, three times this morning?

Tony gave his palm an amazed little smile, and then glanced back to the Bunsen burner, still roaring nonchalantly in the middle of the desk. With his uninjured hand, he reached over and turned the gas off, and then gathered up the fragments of whatever it was he’d been working on – unrecognisable, now that he’d angrily thrown it across the floor. Then he cast a final glance over the various pieces of body armour that he had laid out on his workstation, and decided it was probably a good time for a little break.

Y’know, before he burned the entire house down.

So, his horrible burn already completely forgotten, Tony poured himself a cup of coffee and went to sit on the couch. As he walked, he looked around at the chaos in his workshop – fragments from ten different armoured suits, in various stages of completion, arranged on every available surface.

Well, at least he could say the last four days had been _productive._

There was a pleasant little ache in Tony’s legs as he finally took the weight off of them. Nowhere near what it should have been, seeing as it had been ten hours since he last sat down… But then, Tony was starting to forget how tired he was ‘supposed’ to feel, at any given point. Already, he was starting to get used to this level of endurance, taking it for granted even. He’d tried going to bed _once_ since Steve left, which had felt frankly ridiculous. Lying poker straight on his mattress at 3am, not even remotely tired, _willing_ himself to stay still. He’d given up on that after two and a half hours… and since then the concept of bedtime was just sort of… fading from his reality…

Tony smiled at that thought, now. Just at the general idea of it… being stronger and healthier now… How much better he could look after Steve, if he healed fast and didn’t tire easily…

So, this was probably going to be a _good_ few minutes, then.

They weren’t all good minutes. In the four days since Steve left, Tony’s mood had bounced from extreme to extreme like an out of control rally car. Thoughts occurred to him like mental explosions, sudden and unpredictable, scattering ideas in all directions.

Sometimes he thought of Steve begging to be bitten… And in an instant Tony would remember that that was terrifying, and exciting, and disgusting, and soothing, and vindicating in two entirely separate directions… And it was a crap shoot as to which line of thought he followed for the next few seconds.

Whether he would then be frightened to death that it was actually out there now, and by how casually he’d accepted it, and by the new and alien things he’d felt about it…

Whether he’d be nervously hopeful, because _Steve_ had asked for it – and maybe that meant it wasn’t that weird, or at least that they could talk about it, or…

Or, sometimes Tony would just be disgusted with himself. He’d just _see_ himself as the very thing Obie told him he would become… Actually _asking_ himself if it might be okay? No longer even considering cutting ties with the beautiful, deluded boy who’d just asked to be bitten… like those kids in Florence… _ugh._

But then, sometimes Tony would remember that he _hadn’t_. That, even with _the_ most glorious human being in existence laid out underneath him, _begging_ him to do it, Tony had said no. And, strange and confusing though his impulse had been at the time, Tony was sure that a desire to protect Steve was at the heart of it. An understanding that Steve wasn’t ready, that it wouldn’t be good for him… and that was all that mattered. _Nothing_ would have made Tony bite him, if he wasn’t sure that it was really best for him…

But then, of course, Tony would remember that what he’d actually said was, _not yet._ That what he’d felt was _not yet._ That it had seemed so obvious in the moment that there _could_ be a time… that there _would_ be a time, when it was right…

Thinking about any of that could take up a few minutes.

And then he might move on to practical concerns, perhaps. Remembering that it had now been nearly a week since he drank, and still he didn’t feel hungry… Remembering just how much he wanted to drink again anyway, simply because he wanted that taste, that _high._

And then it might occur to him that if he didn’t drink again, he’d never run out, and then never have an excuse to call Steve again… which might lead to a stab of guilt for being manipulative, or a frisson of confusion as he wondered whether he could call Steve again anyway, or wave of embarrassment at the idea of being considered… a glutton, or a user, or something…

Or, it might lead him to wonder what the future of this arrangement could possibly be. And _that_ could be a glorious daydream of a better future, being stronger, having Steve be a part of his life… Or, it could be an ominous nightmare of watching Steve throw his life away, having Steve come back to him again and again long after he wanted out, because Tony _needed_ him by then. Or a flash of terror at the idea of what might happen if Steve _did_ decide to end this thing after Tony became dependent on him – the hotter, brighter flash of terror at the idea that it might already have happened.

That could last anything from thirty seconds to thirty minutes.

But, in amongst all that, there _were_ good moments. Whole hours, even, when Tony could lose himself in memories and daydreams and _hope_.

When he would just _remember_ how nice it was to feel strong, and powerful, and needed. How _right_ it felt to look after Steve, to know that Steve felt good and that _he_ was the reason. Tony would think back over _all_ their interactions, picking out all the little things he hadn’t spotted before, all the times he should’ve known Steve was hurting or should’ve seen how sweet Steve was being or should’ve appreciated more what Steve had done… And Tony would think what he’d do about it _now._ He’d imagine all the ways he could make Steve good, all the ways he could soothe him and support him and comfort him… Tony could just get lost in that.

Or he’d think back being swept up in Steve’s arms, Steve whispering that everything was okay, that Tony wasn’t a monster – that he knew Tony had a soul. Tony would feel that sense of assurance and validation all over again… and then feel it stretch even further, melting ever deeper into all his anxieties, as he remembered everything that had happened since…

Or, sometimes, Tony would take a few minutes to appreciate how it felt to be in his own body. He’d just sit there, or stand there, and let this power flow through him, and feel the strength throbbing in his muscles and the _life_ there was pulsing in his veins. He would look at the scars on his arms fading, the lines on his skin melting away, the shimmer that had appeared on his hair and nails... He’d stretch into his shoulders, and flex his fingers, and just _feel_ how wonderful it was to exist without pain.

Tony grinned, and took a sip of his coffee. He had learned better than to try and control these trains of thought; he knew now that he could only roll with what occurred to him. So, that made it a pleasant discovery, to find that there were at least some warm, happy thoughts to see him through this interlude…

Hm… The image of Steve, naked and openly displayed for him, his arms still held obediently above his head as he begged Tony to fuck him…

Tony got lost in that moment for so long that his coffee was lukewarm, when he took another sip. 

Then his mind bounced back to the clutter in his workshop, briefly. A few random thoughts about where he was up to… the amused realisation that he didn’t really know. That Tony had just been _working_ for days, purely for the sake of something to do with himself. That he’d barely paid attention to any of it – hence all the burns. All the moments he’d looked down on some completed task only to realise that he had no recollection of actually doing it…

But it seemed to be going okay.

Well, aside from all the burns…

And then, just as quickly, he was back to that night again – thinking of those hours _afterwards_. Just picturing Steve’s pretty face, soft and sleepy and happy, as he chatted away about everything and nothing. Feeling the weight of Steve pressed warm against his ribs, Steve’s hair sliding over Tony’s fingers, the heat of his breath against Tony’s skin. Letting Steve’s words drift through his memories the way he’d let them just float through the air, at the time-

And then his brain snagged on something.

Tony felt himself sit up, his stomach tightening instinctively.

Something about this wasn’t good…

…He’d been remembering something Steve said about Bucky… Something about the last time they slept together…

And, at first, Tony was simply confused by his own physical reaction. Why should that bother him? It really _hadn’t_ , at the time. At the time, Tony was simply pleased that Steve felt comfortable enough to talk about it, and maybe intrigued about Steve’s sexual history – amused by some of the anecdotes, without further consideration. He might even have been a little bit smug, when Steve told him about the _last_ time he and Bucky had sex… Just hearing Steve say how turned on he’d been after seeing Tony… not really thinking about the Bucky element of that story at all, now that he thought back…

And – although, suddenly, it made Tony slightly uncomfortable to analyse this – when he did, he found that he _still_ wasn’t hurt by any of the things that Steve had told him about Bucky. Tony still didn’t know why he would be. Steve started that relationship before he even met Tony, it was about something entirely different to what he and Tony had, it was based on completely different needs and emotions and experiences…

So why did Tony suddenly have a bad taste in his mouth?

And then slowly, it dawned on him.

…It would be very different if Steve did it again, though.

Oh. So now it was going to be a _bad_ few minutes…

Tony put his mug down on the coffee table in front of him with a petulant bang, and let his head fall into his hands. There was nothing to do now but let this one hit him.

The painful and possibly humiliating realisation that he really _didn’t_ like the idea of Steve going to anyone else, now. Not now that Steve _could_ come to Tony, not now that Tony had given so much of himself, not now that he’d taken so much of Steve as his own… The thought of Steve being with Bucky – with _anyone_ – now, was just…

So, there was _that_ initial stab of hurt.

And then the overwhelming wave of self-loathing, as he remembered that he should _want_ that for Steve. That Steve deserved to find someone he could share his life with, someone he could buy a house with and go on vacation with and have kids with and grow old with. Someone he could marry in front of all of his friends, if he wanted to. Someone who could _meet_ his friends. Someone he could take out to dinner, and go for a walk with, and talk to about his day without first having to explain what the world looked like now.

And then the cold, sinking sadness as Tony remembered exactly why that could never be him.

That, no matter what else he worked out, no matter how healthy or strong he felt… he could never be _that_. He could never be all the things _he_ wanted for Steve.

And with that there was a sudden conflict between two very fundamental parts of Tony. The part of him that was so completely devoted to Steve, that crawled towards him in spite of everything else, that already depended on Steve to make everything right and whole again… And the part of him that wanted to make Steve happy.

And it was a conflict that one side won, easily. Rapidly. Leaving an aching loss as Tony recognised that he’d _have_ to let Steve go eventually…

 _His_ Steve, wrapped up in someone else’s arms, letting someone else comfort him and reassure him and look after him…

…Or not.

Not would be worse.

So, that all sucked.

Tony groaned, and sat up, and threw his arms out sulkily. Then he let his head fall back against the couch, huffing angrily at the ceiling.

Still, he’d been through that routine a fair few times, since Steve was last here.

When he’d first remembered that the cult in Florence existed, and realised all the uncomfortable parallels.

When he’d first remembered Obie telling him, _you’ll understand it all when the time comes…_ and realised that he’d either have to be confused forever or prove Obie right about something.

…When it had first occurred to him that one day Steve would grow old, and become frail…and die… And, what, Tony was just supposed to go on living for a thousand years after that?

Every one of those moments had ripped the very soul out of him, left him shaking and panting pointlessly for air-

But the upside to being at the mercy of perpetual mood swings was that even _those_ bombshells had settled into better thoughts, eventually.

If Tony could ride this wave of nausea, if he could wait out this overwhelming panic… something better would come. Some pleasant memory, some reassuring thought.

Some part of Steve…

And then his phone rang.

Tony sighed, and took a moment to shake out his shoulders before he answered. Assuming it would be Pepper or Rhodey-

“Hi? Tony?”

_Oh God, it’s Steve._

“Oh, hi,” Tony breathed, breaking into a grin, his entire body relaxing as though he’d just been hit by a blow dart. Just the sound of Steve’s voice, just those two little words, was like a balm. It knocked all of the guilt and anxiety out of Tony in a single bold swing, dragging him into this moment and leaving everything else behind… “How are you?”

“…Bored,” Steve confessed, with a smile. Tony knew he was smiling. He could picture the _exact_ smile- “and kind of… restless, maybe? You?”

“Same,” Tony grinned, before he’d even thought about it. “I’ve built maybe ten armoured body suits, and nearly burned the house down at least a hundred times.”

“Oh, you’re still working on the body armour?” Steve enquired, with a spark of interest. Tony felt his cheeks burn under the light of Steve’s attention.

“Uh, yeah – well, I keep starting it, anyway,” Tony laughed.

“How far d’you get?”

“Uh, well, one has a really advanced environmental analysis system, but the actual ergonomics are shot. One has an almost fully functioning bio-interface – but nothing below the waist.” Tony summarised, feeling a warmth surge through him when Steve laughed.

“So, you have a fully functioning armoured jacket?”

“Well, it’s more of an armoured sweatshirt…” Tony theorised, aloud. Steve laughed again.

“I swore I’d never wear a sweatshirt… for some reason…” and Tony could _hear_ the expression on Steve’s face. He could _see_ Steve standing there, with a comically exaggerated bemusement, his arms opened just slightly in a subconscious, _do you know what I mean?_ kind of a gesture… And God, he was pretty… “Actually, thinking about it… Maybe it was that Nat made me promise I wouldn’t ever wear sweatshirts…”

“Not even armoured ones?”

“…She didn’t specify.”

“I’d say that counts as a loophole,” Tony reassured, light-heartedly. “You have a solid argument for wearing an armoured sweatshirt.”

“Surely, if you’re wearing an armoured sweatshirt, _that’s_ your argument?” Steve suggested, and this time Tony laughed.

“So, are you working on that now?” Steve carried on, before Tony could say anything. The slightest hint of intention at the end there…

“Well, I was,” Tony answered honestly. “But then I nearly set the house on fire again, so I’m taking a break.”

And then there was a thoughtful little pause for maybe half a second.

“Tell me if this is a weird question,” Steve began, more nervously, “…But I’m just realising that I’ve never seen you actually eat. Food, I mean…”

“Oh, I do,” Tony pre-empted his inquiry, “And, actually, I still have to – although not as much. I can use nutritional fuel really efficiently, so – but yeah, there still needs to be _some_.”

“But not every day?”

“Depends,” Tony mused - not even realising that he was no longer awkward or anxious about this topic, at least for as long as Steve was actually there. Not recognising just how much mental pressure had simply evaporated the second he heard Steve’s voice. “I mean, if I ate _better_ , I could probably go for days on very little… but I eat terrible food, so, yeah, probably once a day.”

“I’m from the forties,” Steve laughed, “I’m guessing you don’t know terrible food.”

“I don’t know…” Tony grinned. “I mean, I don’t boil _everything_ in lard-”

“Lightweight,” Steve muttered, under his breath – causing Tony to snort another surprised laugh.

“-but, yeah, it’s uh, my eating habits are pretty bad,” Tony manged to finish, through his giggles. And then he heard Steve take a sharp little breath-

“Would you like to try some terrible food done really well?”

And for a second Tony was so thoroughly overwhelmed by the bravery in Steve’s voice, so endeared by the earnestness of it and so moved by the vulnerability of it, that he didn’t hear the actual words.

And then…

“Do I want to try some terrible food done well?” Tony repeated, still smiling.

“ _Really_ well.” Steve corrected, and Tony chuckled again.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Although mostly because I’m curious.”

“…Are you doing anything tonight…?”

“No,” Tony smiled.

“So… Can I come over?”

Tony had to physically swallow the emotion that rose up in him then. Excitement and delight and just… a flood of _adoration_ -

“Of course,” he beamed – his stomach clenching at the sound of Steve’s soft little gasp. “What time do you want to come over?”

“…Seven?” Steve guessed. Tony’s jaw actually ached from smiling so much.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you then,” he agreed, holding his phone to his ear until he heard Steve hang up.

And then there was a second of total silence… And then his ears started ringing…

“A change in plans for this evening, sir?” JARVIS enquired, causally. Tony let go of another startled little laugh.

“Er, yeah…” he answered, completely dazed, still staring at his phone.

“Yeah… I think I have a date.”


	16. Chapter 16

Whatever happened with Steve, tonight or in the long term, Tony knew he’d remember this day for the rest of his life.

It had been… _surreal._

Tony felt like he’d lived a week at least, in the five hours since Steve called. He’d been through every possible mood, existed in every possible perspective, run through every thought it was possible to have.

That first hour after Steve hung up, so much had tried to crowd into Tony’s head that it’d turned into a deafening white noise. He’d been infused with such sudden and overwhelming energy that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Then he’d just started tidying his workshop, barely aware he was doing it, sort of assuming that it would take hours to clear the debris… And when he’d done that, less than thirty minutes later, it finally occurred to him that Steve was more likely to end up in the kitchen-

And he’d taken a moment to giggle at the strangeness of that-

Steve was going to be in his kitchen.

Steve was going to _cook_ for him?

_Jesus Christ-_

So then Tony had tidied the kitchen, which had taken hardly any time at all, because he basically never used it. Most of his meals could be microwaved in the workshop…

And somewhere in the middle of that task his thoughts had slowed just enough for him to hear them – enough that he could get completely distracted by them, no longer aware of _what_ he was cleaning as his mind ran away from him…

One minute, thinking of how ridiculous this all was.

Then thinking it was dangerous.

Then thinking it was exciting.

Then thinking it was… _nice_.

Feeling so in love that he was dizzy, light on his feet and _happy_. So in love that it made him feel powerful and peaceful and pure…

Feeling so it love that he was terrified, frozen inside himself and _hurt_. So in love that it made him feel overwhelmed and confused and small.

Tony had only snapped himself out of _that_ when he recognised that he was tidying a room he hadn’t even been in for a year. And then he’d realised that he still had three whole hours to kill until Steve arrived – and regretted putting his work away so soon. And then he’d decided that he should probably think about what he was going to wear…

That led him on an unexpectedly deep and affecting train of thought.

It was just… looking at how few options that he had to weigh up. Realising that ninety per cent of his clothing qualified as loungewear – and why wouldn’t it? Why would he bother replacing the t-shirts that got stained or scorched? Who would know?

…Who was he even dressing _for_ , right now? Who did he dress for usually? Did he even _have_ a personal image… or a personality… or a personhood, at all… if no one ever got to see it? _Was_ he still the sort of person who would’ve chosen a perfectly tailored suit over a designer one, or who would’ve turned up to a business meeting in a Hawaiian shirt, or who wouldn’t be seen dead in ‘pleather’, or any of the things he’d been _as a person_ when he was 21? Did it even matter, seeing as he was never going to be seen in any outfit ever again?

Did it matter what his sense of humour was, or his politics, or the little tell-tale signs that he was angry… Did any of it matter, if it was simply never going to come up?

Did it matter what sort of outfit he would’ve chosen for a date, if he’d been a different person entirely?

Did it matter that he didn’t even know anymore?

…Why _did_ he own those two nice shirts, and a pair of outdoor shoes? What had he been thinking when he bought those? Was there some instinct that human beings are born with, the way starlings know to collect sticks for their nest – a biological impulse to acquire a cold weather coat, and hang it in a wardrobe?

Or had there always been a tiny, _tiny_ part of him that thought… _just in case?_

And there had come a moment in all of this when Tony became horribly aware that he was looking at a metaphor for his entire life. Staring at this pathetic collection of clothes that he didn’t even like, realising that he had no idea how to dress for someone else, what he was even trying to say with his personal choices, how people in the real world saw these things, now… It was a moment that perfectly symbolised how isolated he’d become, how far beyond help he was, how far he’d drifted away from human…

And yet, for _all_ that… he had always owned a pair of outdoor shoes, and two dress shirts, and a coat.

Tony concluded that that was probably the saddest part of the whole fucking thing and grabbed one of the shirts at random. The black one. And then he’d reminded himself that it really didn’t matter and resolved not to think about it again.

Which had left him with over two hours to kill.

And then Tony had briefly considered whether he should drink again before Steve got there. Seeing as he hadn’t, since that first bag of Steve’s blood. Experience told him that it was an awfully long time to have gone on so little. Reason told him it probably wasn’t ‘healthy’. That, and a gnawing little concern from the darkest corners of his mind, something he didn’t want to think about too deeply… something that told him it would be better to be full when Steve arrived.

But he wasn’t hungry.

_Still_ , after nearly a week, Tony felt as strong and as satisfied as he’d ever felt on any other blood. Better than he used to feel in the moments right after feeding. He hadn’t even felt that nagging little craving, much less the physical weakness and shortness of breath that should’ve overwhelmed him by now. Both reason and experience told him that he only drank blood when he had to – that he only drank blood _because_ he had to… That it would be very wrong if he was only thinking about this because he _wanted_ Steve’s blood.

Because he liked it.

And the point that won the argument was when Tony realised that at least that initial high had worn off… and he liked that.

Even though everything would probably be easier and smoother and calmer if he was high right now. Even though he knew that he’d be more confident and in control if he drank again, that he was guaranteed to feel good if he did that…

He actually preferred the idea of being sober, and nervous, and awkward when Steve arrived… it felt more real. It felt more like getting to do it as himself.

The last night he’d spent with Steve had been wonderful, beautiful, _perfect_ … But, in a way, thinking back to it felt like remembering a particularly vivid dream. There was still that slight distance, the disconnect between the way Tony’s brain had worked that night and the way it worked when he looked back on it… There was still that wordless feeling that it had happened in a different world, that it had happened _outside_ of his life, like it wasn’t actually cannon or something.

But if Steve came over now, and found Tony just as he was… then it really would have happened. Whatever Tony said or thought or did, that really would be him. He felt like, when he thought back to this later, it would still look the same…

And that was better.

He’d like to _have_ that… that experience, in life…

And that probably started him on the most surreal train of thought of the entire day, without him even realising.

Somehow, by six that evening, Tony had started just… thinking about his date.

Just thinking like a person who had a date, forgetting to add the caveats and the cautions and the comparisons to other lives. All the things he’d been panicking about all afternoon must’ve just slipped away while he wasn’t looking. All those life-long concerns just sort of… fell asleep. Suddenly, Tony simply wasn’t thinking about them, and was quite relaxed about the fact that he wasn’t thinking about them, calmly filing them away for a later date like he used to with ‘grown up decisions’ when he was a teenager.

Yes, he knew there were all those questions still to answer, and all those future plans to get frustrated over, and past decisions to analyse again…

But _now_ , Tony could really only think about the fact that Steve would be here soon. Thinking perfectly ordinary things about it; wondering if he should kiss Steve when he got there, where they could actually sit and eat, trying to guess if Steve would be dressed up and what Tony could read into it either way…

Things regular people probably think while they’re waiting for their date to turn up.

Things Tony was still sure didn’t fit with being an immortal, blood-drinking, fairy monster, things that didn’t even fit with the emotional wreck he’d been all day… and yet there it was.

And then Steve’s car finally pulled into the parking lot.

Tony felt an immediate, disorienting lift inside him, a sudden rush of nervous excitement and self-conscious joy.

_He’s here._

He literally bounced on the balls of his feet for a second before he started his run down to the front door. He reached the first-floor landing in three wide bounds-

“Captain Rogers has just arrived, sir,” JARVIS informed him, politely.

Tony felt his feet stutter to a halt underneath him, his body jarring to an awkward stop.

“Yeah, I… know…” Tony answered automatically, his mind already racing ahead to the obvious follow up question-

_How did I know that?_

…Because he absolutely did _know_ that. There was simply no doubt in his head that he’d thought it, that he’d been sure of it, that it had been _right_ …

That was probably a concerning development.

That was the sort of thing that should snap Tony right out of this mood, and trigger all sorts of terrible fears… probably.

But it didn’t.

Still, Tony only felt that electric anticipation, that _pull_ towards Steve… that feeling that everything was clear when Steve was actually there.

And then the doorbell rang.

And Tony just grinned, and ran to answer it.

*

Steve felt wonderfully ridiculous, standing outside Tony’s house with a plastic carrier bag full of budget groceries. Trying not to fidget, or hold his breath, or run his hand through his hair – _again._

His mind was working on autopilot by now, just shuffling through all the giddy anxieties he’d spent the whole day on. Most of it had lost all meaning hours ago.

Wondering if this was a bad idea.

If it would’ve been better to try cooking _good_ food for Tony, rather than trying to be cute.

If it was a risky plan, to try cooking for Tony in the first place.

Hoping that Tony would like it.

Hoping that he’d be able to think of things to talk about, hoping that he looked okay… hoping Tony would kiss him…

Steve had grown strangely fond of these thoughts over the course of the last few hours. They felt warm and comforting and genuine. Everything felt so _much_ … and yet it was all so refreshingly simple and honest and human.

Enough that it could blot out all the usual noise entirely… but with something light, and easy, and pure.

After all these months of not knowing _how_ he felt, never being able to find words for the ever changing chaos in his head… right now, Steve could say that he was quite simply and overwhelmingly excited for his date.

Which was nice.

And then he heard the gently click of the front door unlocking, his breath catching in his chest as he reached up to push it open-

But it opened for him.

And there was Tony.

“Hi,” Steve beamed.

“Hey,” Tony smiled back, his eyes warm and happy and strikingly beautiful. His skin was still glowing, and Steve briefly thought to wonder whether, _maybe…_ Tony had been drinking his blood again… And then got completely distracted by Tony’s lips…

“Hi,” Steve repeated, his face flushing when Tony giggled. And then Tony stood aside to let him in.

Tony asked a few general questions about Steve’s week, and the team, and how Bucky’s arm was healing, as he walked them up to the kitchen on the second floor. It wasn’t until they got there that Steve realised how little of Tony’s house he’d actually seen. That there was something especially intimate about being allowed into Tony’s kitchen… maybe even more so than the bedroom. Even though, from the looks of it, Tony didn’t use it much, this still felt like a part of his day-to-day life, his _real_ life. A step beyond being allowed into Tony’s workspace, something different to being allowed into his bed.

“So…” Steve announced, nervously, as he put the grocery bag onto the counter. “I have brought tinned tomatoes,” he pulled each item out of the bag as he named it, “a bottle of soy sauce, a bag of rice, some granulated sugar, and a can of corned beef.” And, as he was saying it, Steve was again panicking that this had been a really bad idea… But Tony laughed, kindly. That laugh that Steve always felt a little bit proud to have gotten out of him.

“Gosh, Steve, this is all just so much…” He mocked, without malice. Steve grinned.

“Hey, I promised you terrible food done well-”

“Done really well,” Tony cut in to remind him, and Steve giggled.

“Done _really_ well,” he conceded, before he continued, “so, I think we can agree this is half the promise kept already,” and he gestured to his ingredients, _see, terrible_.

But Tony just carried on smiling at him, in that way that made Steve feel pleasantly weak.

“So, what do you need to turn this into food?” Tony asked, cheerfully.

“Uh, two pans and something to drain the rice,” Steve replied, because he’d momentarily forgotten the word for ‘colander’. But Tony seemed to know what he was talking about and went over to one of the cleverly concealed cabinets, which Steve took as an opportunity to have a better look around the kitchen.

It was a large, open plan space, minimalist and white in that way expensive kitchens tended to be without thinking. The whole of one wall was taken up by the wide countertop that Steve was standing at, with a glistening six burner gas range built seamlessly into the surface. Behind him there was an island, with a deep sink… and several glass jars of shimmering, brightly coloured liquid, which looked decorative rather than functional. He smiled, feeling like he’d found a personal detail to file away. And then he glanced over to his left, to the tall, chrome refrigerator – the flyer stuck to the door with a Stark Industries magnet.

The flyer Steve had given to Tony along with the blood. Pinned up back-to-front, so that he could see the last minute notes he’d scribbled.

“I know, most people have recipes stuck to their fridge,” Tony muttered self-consciously, putting two pans down onto the counter next to Steve. Steve caught himself, looking away from the flyer so sharply that only drew more attention.

“To be honest, I thought I was being ridiculous writing any of it down, so…” Steve started awkwardly, worried he’d already killed the mood. Desperately scrabbling for any way to move on from this topic… Maybe just a _little_ bit excited to think that Tony had kept a note from him… “Mostly, I’m just pleased it wasn’t a total waste of…Time…”

Tony smiled at him, and glanced up at the flyer again… and didn’t leap in to say _why_ he’d kept it, _why_ it was useful…

_…Maybe he just…kept it-_

“So, what’re the jars?” Steve asked, jerking his head towards the little display next to the sink. And, okay, it wasn’t the smoothest transition – but the question did seem to genuinely catch Tony’s attention, and draw them away from that moment, and screw it, that would do.

“Oh, uh, those are a failed attempt at a responsive chemical defensive system,” Tony breathed a laugh. “The whole theory was flawed, as it turned out – but I liked them, so I kept them,” he shrugged, and Steve grinned.

“They’re pretty,” he agreed, turning his attention back to the food as he spoke.

“They change colour,” Tony added, with just a hint of pride. Steve grinned wider.

“And they sparkle.”

“ _Some_ of them sparkle,” Tony corrected lightly, moving to look over Steve’s shoulder as he mashed the tomatoes and corned beef together in one of the pans. “Those are the ones with the metallic filings in them – that was theory one…” he trailed off, as he became more and more distracted by the mush Steve was creating. Steve glanced down at it and laughed.

“If it reassures you – it’s _meant_ to look like dog food, at this stage.”

“That _is_ greatly reassuring,” Tony commented, deadpan – which made Steve laugh again. “And – not that I’m suddenly more concerned about this, or anything… But what _are_ you making?”

“Mrs Ken always just called it ‘rice and corned beef,” Steve remembered, warmly. “Which I suppose doesn’t help much.”

“Well, on the other hand – she couldn’t have given it a more straight-forward name,” Tony observed. “Who’s Mrs Ken?”

“She was a nurse who worked with my mom – well, I think actually she was my mom’s boss… She was another Irish Immigrant.” Steve smiled fondly, as he moved the pan onto the range and put it on a low heat. “She used to cook this by the gallon, and just hand out bowls of it to people in the neighbourhood. This was back in the thirties, when basically everyone in the neighbourhood was starving…” He was glad that Tony’s eyes lit up at that, that Tony seemed genuinely touched by the idea. “And this was cheap to make, and easy to make in big quantities, and takes about ten minutes. And you could usually get the ingredients for it – well, she could. Her husband was… Chinese Mauritian, I think? But I remember that if anyone wanted to make this for themselves, they went to him to get soy sauce… and everyone went to Mrs Sastry for rice…”

As Steve was talking, it finally occurred to him how long it had been since he thought back to mundane childhood memories… Because usually it felt more significant or painful than this. He usually felt too much pressure to explain the background, or to pre-empt anyone else being sad on his behalf… and yet here he was, just remembering it.

He carried on remembering, as he filled the other pan with water, and washed the rice. Mrs Ken and Mrs Sastry. Mickey and Kenny and the little O’Brien kid, who used to run up to Mrs Ken’s stoop with him, mouths watering at the prospect of a warm meal. The nurse’s uniform that his mom used to wear, and her worn out leather work shoes. It had been so long since Steve had thought about any of this. Since he’d felt that happy nostalgia of thinking back to something he’d forgotten he missed… and liking it.

And when he looked up again Tony was just looking at him, warm and interested and… _listening._

“And of course, the Irish have a proud history of cooking with corned beef,” Steve added, with a wry smile. “I mean, I don’t know that they _should_ be proud of all of it… My mothers corned beef hash was famously terrible, even in the great depression-” he was cut short when Tony let out a surprised giggle.

“Your mom wasn’t a good cook?” He asked, sounding vaguely surprised.

“Well, some things,” Steve remembered… he liked remembering… “She made great pastry – yes, Captain America’s mom made great apple pie,” and he paused, so that Tony could laugh again. “And, to be fair to her – _everyone_ boiled all the flavour out of meat, back then.”

“My mom’s parents were Italian, and Italian food was literally all she could cook,” Tony mused. “Everything else she ever tried was always a total disaster – not that she tried much, actually. Our kitchen was staffed, when I was a kid.”

“So, it’s a privileged, socialite youth I should be picturing, then?” Steve teased, resisting the temptation to stir the rice – Mrs Ken had always been quite adamant that you shouldn’t do that.

“Oh, absolutely,” Tony nodded enthusiastically. “If you’d like to google any cliché, rich-brat teen drama from the eighties, you’ll have a pretty accurate representation.”

Steve just smiled at that, as he added a sprinkle of sugar and a dash of soy sauce. And then Tony carried on, thoughtfully,

“Sometimes I wonder how that kid would’ve turned out… I mean, literally how I would’ve spoken, or reacted, or… Like, I _was_ bratty then, and combative, and – well, awful probably. But, I don’t know… I couldn’t talk like that now…”

And then Tony shook his head abruptly, like he’d just come to his senses, subtly pinching his lips…

Steve knew that Tony had just hit on something difficult, that he’d realised he didn’t want to talk about this, or couldn’t… Steve _did_ feel a little instinct to back away-

But that immediate tug of empathy was so much stronger.

It just fell out of his mouth, a tad too enthusiastically, before he could stop himself-

“No, I get that. I really…” and _then_ Steve felt a bit self-conscious, suddenly second guessing his wording and unsure of the reaction he was expecting, even worried that he’d regret sharing something this personal.

But he was in this far now

…And, okay, maybe _he_ really wanted to say this.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe its not the same thing, but… I don’t know, the way I think young people talk is how everyone else expects elderly people to talk. I remember when I was maybe a week out of the ice, I referred to someone as a fella, and whoever I was talking to snorted this little laugh, like it was really… quaint, or something. But that wasn’t how it sounded to me…” And Steve noticed, as he was talking, that Tony was softening again, his eyes widening in recognition. It helped the words come easier. “And, I don’t know – even if I _had_ been… cool, or confident, or sexy, or whatever, in the forties… If I acted the same way now as I always had, I wouldn’t be those things anymore. Now I’d just sound like your dad trying to be cool, or your grandad trying to be sexy. And, I’m not saying I _was_ any of those things, but… whatever I was, it’s not the same anymore.”

“No, that’s exactly it,” Tony smiled. A different smile… deeper, somehow. “And I know, actually, that’s about me spending the last twenty years in this house, not… anything else. Well, except for that being a vampire is _why_ I’ve spent twenty years in this house… But, honestly, sometimes I think that even if I woke up human tomorrow… I still wouldn’t be able to leave the house without bumping into things, or know what anyone was talking about when I got there.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to call the feeling that welled up in him then. It seemed wrong to call it a good feeling, when Tony was sharing a personal fear like that. And, of course, Steve would far rather have taken it from him – to have been able to snap his fingers and give Tony the life that he deserved… But it felt very strongly of _something_ , to think that Tony got this. That he’d felt it too.

“And, I don’t know… I think I used to be someone who knew what people were talking about.” Tony confessed. “Like, that was…a ‘thing’, about me, once…”

“And that’s how people used to react to you, and you know what to say to how people _used_ to react to you-”

“But I actually don’t know how to be awkward and clumsy, even though I _am_ awkward and clumsy now-”

“And I don’t really know how to be the old fashioned one, when everyone actually used to think of me as the forward thinking one. But I’m almost embarrassed to say that now, because I can’t back it up-”

“And if I did say to anyone, ‘I’m not this clueless, socially inept person really… everyone just thinks that because I don’t have a clue what’s going on, and I don’t know how to talk to people…’”

“Yes!” Steve laughed. “God, yes – people are _always_ telling me that I should stop being so nervous, and just show the world the real me. But the real me _is_ nervous – the real me doesn’t have a fucking clue what anyone is talking about.”

“And, I mean… _are_ you ‘the sort of person’ who gets an anxiety attack at the train station, just because you have an anxiety attack every time you walk into a train station? That’s a stupid question, right?” Tony laughed back.

“I don’t know – are you ‘the sort of person’ who puts their foot in it and uses outdated terms all the time, just because you keep doing it?”

And then their eyes met. Steve found himself looking at the very thing he was feeling – the same surprise in Tony’s smile, the same excitement in his expression.

Steve’s heart seized in his chest.

Oh, God, that was…

And then Tony glanced away, the smile melting into something more like bashful, that look on his face like he should be blushing.

But not quite the sudden take back of before. It wasn’t the same discomfort. It was something pleasant and… hopeful, even.

“I think your rice is ready,” Tony muttered. Steve snapped to look at it – he’d completely forgotten he was cooking for a moment there, and it was total fluke that nothing had caught fire. Thankfully it looked as though he’d been reminded at the right moment, and Steve could pretend to be cool about taking it off the heat, and subtly testing the gently bubbling sauce…

And, _thank God,_ it tasted okay - to him at least.

“And hey, it looks like food now,” Tony observed playfully, giving the pan an approving nod. “Bowls and forks?”

Steve nodded back and took the rice over to the sink to drain it, equally relieved to find that it was cooked properly. And he wasn’t even sure why he was so bothered – he didn’t really believe that Tony would think less of him if the meal turned out badly. They could probably make a joke of it, it might have been a funny story they told later-

But Steve just _really_ wanted this to be good.

He might even have been holding his breath as he ladled out the servings into two heavy ceramic bowls.

“I don’t really have what you’d call a ‘dining area’…” Tony warned hesitantly, as he dumped the empty pans into the sink.

“Ha, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this sitting down,” Steve reassured him, nervously handing him his meal.

Tony cocked an eyebrow and flashed a smile, and for a second Steve was just pleased that he hadn’t dropped the bowl. He let a pleasant shiver run up his spine as Tony took it…

And then tried very hard not to watch anxiously for his reaction.

The second before Tony took that first mouthful seemed to stretch on forever, while Steve continued to look without looking as though he was looking…

And he saw Tony’s eyes flash with surprise…

… _Pleasant_ surprise

And he grinned.

And took another mouthful.

Steve tried to contain that sigh of relief, that little bubble of optimism, fighting the growing temptation to ask-

“This is really nice,” Tony told him, at last.

“You sound surprised,” Steve commented, probably failing in his attempt to sound cool.

“Honestly? I was expecting it to be nice,” Tony replied in a confessional tone, _I can be totally honest with you now._ “And I’d already decided to be very polite if for any reason it wasn’t,” and he paused so Steve could giggle at that. “But, yeah – I actually _really_ like this.”

“Well, I can’t really take any credit,” Steve muttered, finally starting his own meal. Trying very hard not to look smug. “Like I say, it’s not my recipe.”

“Well, it’s really good,” Tony said again, taking another bite. “Best thing I’ve eaten in… well, probably twenty years. But, when you’re processing that comment, take into account that I’ve been cooking for myself that whole time, and I’m a truly _terrible_ cook…”

_Don’t look smug._

“I find it hard to believe that someone who can make an armoured sweatshirt can’t make a pasta sauce,” Steve commented, sceptically.

“Ah, but this is the thing – _cooking_ is an art,” Tony told him, his voice animated and interested. “The best _cooks_ in the world have a feel for food, they can tell if ingredients are fresh from the feel of them, and they judge sauce from the exact hue of red and the texture when they stir it… Cooks are the ones who add a dash of this and a pinch of that according to taste. Like painters and musicians. I mean, there probably _is_ a neurological, scientific analysis of what makes a good painting, or a good song. Like there is a scientific reaction behind everything a cook does – but that’s not how they do it. They do it by sense and skill, more than by rational application of the process.”

“And you’re not artistic?” Steve asked, suddenly drawn into the conversation.

“Eh – I’m much more on the science side than the arts side. _Much_ more.” Tony mused. “It’s just the way I prefer to think about things, I guess… Actually, baking always made much more sense to me than cooking.”

“Baking?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Well, baking always seemed like it was _more_ based on a process – an objective, _scientific_ reaction. Like, one of the first projects I remember doing at elementary school was baking bread. And I still just remember that as the first science experiment I ever did at school. I remember the teacher explaining how the yeast _worked_ , and the chemical reaction that we were trying to stimulate when we kneaded it, and what was taking place when we left it to rest, and the effect the saran wrap had during that time…”

“Wow, your elementary school was intense,” Steve commented offhandedly, and Tony snorted a laugh.

“Probably not quite _that_ intense,” he conceded, “I don’t think they used those exact words at the time. But it still felt more like controlling the conditions for a chemical process than paining a picture. Like, when they explained how baking soda worked, or why pastry has to be rolled out on a cold surface, or why eggs curdle. And, I’m not saying there isn’t an art to baking – I’m not exactly great at that, either. But, I don’t know… it just always _seemed_ more scientific, to me.”

“…So you _can_ bake?” Steve smiled. And Tony dropped his eyes.

“…I can bake better than I can cook,” he admitted. And then rushed to add “Which is _really_ not saying much. And, actually, it’s been at least ten years since I was bored enough to try it, so I might’ve forgotten it all anyway…”

Steve was still grinning at this little detail he’d stumbled upon, and the happy mental image that was starting to form around it.

And then Tony just added,

“If I ever give it another go, I’ll let you know – you can tell me whether it’s good food done terribly.”

Steve paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

…Did Tony just say he might bake something for him?

“Well, I promise to be an objective judge,” Steve squeaked.

“It’s okay, you’re a terrible liar anyway,” Tony joked effortlessly, and Steve had to really concentrate to keep from choking on his food when he laughed.

By now it was a concerted effort to control the excited hope that was welling up in him. Steve had been hurt and betrayed and disappointed too many times to be entirely comfortable with this feeling – there was still a little voice warning against letting his guard down, reminding him to be critical, trying to emotionally prepare for the world to be pulled out from under his feet-

All of which was coming up against the growing, giddy observation that… this did seem to be going really well.

He was just happy and comfortable here, simply enjoying Tony’s company.

He did feel confident that Tony was happy right now, that he’d liked the food and that he liked being with Steve.

…It was becoming harder and harder for Steve to second guess everything. Less of an instinct, and more of an overt reminder, and then a chore…

He might even have been reaching the point where this just felt like a date he’d have gone on in the forties – if he’d _ever_ been on a date that went this well.

And then, without really noticing, he’d finished his meal, and when he looked up he saw that Tony had also cleared his bowl.

He forgot to warn himself not to be smug, and just outright grinned.

“Well, I have to say, that was terrible food done _really_ well,” Tony announced, sounding entirely genuine. Steve felt his cheeks warm.

“I am a man of my word.”

“And I should expect nothing less,” Tony answered theatrically, reaching out to take Steve’s empty bowl. And then he turned to throw both of them into the sink with the pans.

“You don’t have a dishwasher?” Steve observed, mindlessly.

“Oh, yeah…” Tony frowned, sweeping his eyes over the flawless lines of his kitchen. “I forget where it is…”

Steve threw his head back and laughed at that, taken in by the delivery and taken by surprise.

“…I’ll find it later,” Tony assured him, giving the washing up a dismissive wave.

And then Steve’s eyes caught on the tiniest flash out of the corner of his eye, barely recognising that he’d seen it before he turned to look.

Something shiny, sitting on the counter to the right of him, briefly caught by the change in the light when Tony moved.

…A silver photo frame.

Which was in itself enough to snag Steve’s attention. But when he looked more carefully, Steve could see that it was a candid shot; a badly lit 6x4 like the ones he’d found in all of SHIELDs 90s files… he couldn’t make out the details from here.

He looked up for Tony’s permission before he examined it more closely, and Tony glanced at it, and smiled.

“Oh, that’s the night that Rhodey made Colonel,” he explained, and then nodded, _yeah, you can look_. “He came over, after all the official ceremonies and celebrations had taken place – that was taken at about four in the morning.”

As he was talking, Steve was picking the frame up. Looking at a photograph of Tony with his arm around an admittedly very tired looking Rhodey, in full dress uniform. Tony, smiling brightly at the camera, his chest puffed up in pride. Rhodey, looking up at Tony, a wry affection in his eyes. Rhodey definitely looked younger in it… Steve couldn’t tell if Tony did. It just looked so much like Tony – an especially nice picture of Tony, actually.

“So, somewhere in the universe, a photo of you _does_ exist,” Steve observed lightly, and Tony breathed a self-aware laugh.

“Very, very few,” he accepted, reluctantly. “That one was taken on Rhodey’s insistence – I asked him what he wanted as a gift, and he said photograph. I asked him if he was sure he wouldn’t prefer a private island or something… But he was sure. So, yeah, there exist exactly three photographs of me.”

“Three?”

“I have one, Rhodey has one, and Pepper has one. In paper form, on the strict instruction that they lock it in an attic…” Tony’s voice slowed as he spoke, trailing off into a heavy pause. Steve could just sort of feel that there was something else.

But he really wasn’t expecting Tony to say-

“Would you like one?”

“If… that’s okay,” Steve answered immediately, even as his heart leapt into his throat.

“On the strict instruction that you lock it in an attic” Tony mumbled more quietly, sounding endearingly vulnerable and maybe even a little bit pleased. Steve tried unsuccessfully to swallow that emotion back down. And then Tony took a step closer, and gestured to the frame in Steve’s hands, “you can take that one, if you like.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah – _I_ kept the negative, of course,” Tony assured him.

Steve actually felt just a little bit shaky as he slid the back of the frame away, the glass panel at the front coming free along with the photograph. Steve turned his attention to the picture first, carefully setting the frame aside so that he could concentrate on placing the photo into his inside pocket – the one deep enough that he could be sure he wouldn’t crease it. And then he glanced up at Tony.

“I sincerely promise no one else will ever see it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And Tony smiled.

“I trust you.”

Steve had to take a sharp breath, his whole body suddenly feeling so much lighter.

And – as a _total_ afterthought – Steve picked the empty frame up again, to put the various pieces into their proper places.

A mindless act of tidying, a subconscious instinct towards politeness or neatness, or maybe just something to do with his hands-

Nothing really.

He needn’t have done it at all.

Everything could have turned out very differently…

But, as it was, Steve slid that glass panel back into its slot – and accidently ran the edge of it over his fingers.

The sting and shock of it jarred him out of his thoughts. A sharp hiss broke out of his chest as he put the frame down on the counter, thinking he’d immediately look at the cut-

That should have been obvious, shouldn’t it? Just a matter of instinct…

And then Steve _felt_ everything change.

He felt the air around him shift, suddenly thicker and heavier and scented of something. The light around him looked different. The filter and focus of his vision had altered-

His thoughts just… _changed_. From that basic, human pattern that would’ve had him look at his own wound… to that different instinct, that made him look at Tony.

… _Oh._

Steve felt his thoughts abandon him completely, his breaths moving higher in his chest and his heart beating hard against his ribs, as he tried to take Tony in. Tony’s eyes blown so wide they were almost black, his lips parted in an open hunger.

Time stopped.

Everything crowded in closer. The whole world seemed to shrink around him until it _was_ just him, and Tony, and this rapidly increasing pressure between them.

And then Steve felt a liquid shiver run over his fingers, as a single drop of blood burst under its own weight.

He saw Tony’s eyes widen, caught the briefest flash of Tony’s tongue.

Steve let go of a tight breath, dragging his gaze away from Tony so that he could look down at the thin red line trickling over his hand.

Out of habit, his raised his arm, about to put his fingers into his mouth-

And then Tony’s fingers curled around his wrist, that grip even firmer and stronger than Steve remembered, a pure, calm power pulsing under his hand.

Steve gasped softly, freezing instantly, his eyes snapping to meet Tony’s again. But Tony was looking at Steve’s fingers now… his gaze following the trail of that one drop of blood.

And then Tony took Steve’s arm and moved it, effortlessly, pulling Steve’s hand towards him.

Putting Steve’s fingers to his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter, including some biting, blood drinking and... I guess you'd call it blood kink? I mean, we're not up to all of the tags in this update, but some of them...  
> So, yeah, be aware, before you open this chapter on the bus...  
> Hope you enjoy :-)

It was an especially important fraction of a second.

That instant in which Tony’s instincts kicked in, intense and immediate and all encompassing, his whole body pulled towards Steve-

Because Steve was _hurt._

And it _was_ the sound of Steve hissing in pain that Tony reacted to – it was too powerful an instinct for him to mistake, too clear for him to misremember. The same bodily panic he’d felt when Steve nearly burned himself, but so much stronger. A sudden, plunging feeling at his gut, a searing awakening of every nerve in his body, an impulse to go to him-

It would matter, later.

That tiny splinter of time when all Tony cared about was whether Steve was okay, making _sure_ he was okay.

That half a second when Tony had _already_ stepped into another space entirely, his senses already shifting…

 _Before_ he caught the scent of blood.

But, obviously, that would have to matter later–

Because right then, there was the blood.

And that literally did _hit_ him, almost immediately on top of that spike of concern. A thick wall of intoxication that almost threw Tony backwards before it engulfed him completely. His head swam as though he’d been struck… but without the pain. Just the feeling of the floor shifting under his feet, and his vision exploding into stars, his thoughts literally knocked out of his head.

And suddenly that smell was so strong, like it was coating his tongue, like he could already taste it-

And God, he wanted more, he just-

_Steve is hurt_

There was a sharp stab of conflict in Tony then. The fear of an impossible choice, even before he’d worked out what it was. A hot confusion as he tried to reconcile these two priorities-

There couldn’t possibly be anything more important than having that taste, right _now-_

There couldn’t possibly be anything more important than Steve being hurt, _ever_.

And then Tony looked at Steve, just as Steve turned away from the frame… and looked right at him. Tony _saw_ Steve…The way Steve subtly dropped his shoulders, instinctively opening himself up. The way he bravely covered that little flash of pain. The fact that Steve’s first impulse was to turn to Tony

 _As it should be_.

_…Oh._

…Oh, this wasn’t at all like Tony thought it would be.

Tony had lived in fear of Obie’s predictions ever since he was turned. That repulsive innuendo, ‘ _bloodlust_ ’, and all the horrible things it could be a euphemism for. Tony had tried to tell himself that it simply wasn’t real, that Obie had made the whole thing up to control him and to justify that perverse act of betrayal… But, obviously, the fear had never gone away. That shadowy anxiety of this unknown _force_ that might one day overwhelm him, turn him into the same monster Obie had been.

And then there was that more present fear that Steve had inspired in him. The unarticulated terror of what would happen if Tony let Steve see this side of him. The fear of _wanting_ Steve when he didn’t know what that desire might be twisted into. The deep dread of one day wanting to hurt Steve the way Obie had hurt him – or, worse still, one day believing it was the _right_ thing to do…

The fear of wanting Steve’s blood… of not being able to control that.

Tony had always assumed that, if it existed, _bloodlust_ would be animalistic and savage and uncontainable.

That it would be spiteful, and selfish, and basic.

The nightmare he’d been running from was an image of himself transformed into something else, something animal – or _evil_. The fear of acting ways he wouldn’t act, _thinking_ things he wouldn’t think. Losing himself.

But this…

This _was_ bloodlust. There was no other way to describe it.

This wasn’t the same as the high that had flooded him _after_ he drank Steve’s blood. This wasn’t _just_ the connection he’d felt growing between them, or the regular human lust Tony felt for him. This time, in among all the other distinct reactions that Steve sparked in him, there was an unmistakeable craving for the taste of his blood. A _desire_ for that high, a physical ache, a primal urge to feel his teeth sinking into Steve’s skin.

And it was _nothing_ like Tony thought it would be.

It _wasn’t_ spiteful, or selfish… it was the opposite of that. This was a feeling of overwhelming love and devotion, an desperation to be closer to Steve, to share that much of him… a rising desire to do this _for_ him. An ever-clearer idea of what it would really be like, to share a moment that intimate and that powerful, to be that closely bonded to one another. A rapidly building pleasure in that idea, a growing excitement at the prospect…and it was warm, and giving, and _happy_.

It didn’t make Tony feel less like himself – it made him feel like he suddenly understood himself, immediately _comfortable_ in himself… somehow more sure of what he was thinking, and what he wanted… How it all worked.

And, perhaps most important of all, there wasn’t the remotest question this overwhelming Tony’s self-control. However much he wanted Steve’s blood, the idea of forcing himself onto Steve was as repugnant as it had ever been.

There _was_ a physical desperation to this – but it didn’t reduce Tony down to his physical urges.

There _was_ a primal reaction to Steve’s blood – but that didn’t turn Tony into an animal.

However desperately he wanted Steve, however much it would hurt – literally _hurt_ – to walk away now… It was still Tony’s own mind making that choice. It was still just a question of how much Tony would have to want something before he could harm Steve in any way… It was Tony’s own heart and conscience and soul that recoiled from that idea.

_…Obie chose to hurt me._

_…It was never anything to do with being a vampire._

_It never mattered how much he wanted to, or why he wanted to… _

_This has nothing to do with what Obie did to me._

Which would have been a life-changing moment of enlightenment, at any other time… But now… Tony kind of felt like he knew that already.

In this moment, his mind focused by that scent, his entire body flooded by this all-consuming adoration for Steve… Tony knew exactly what this really was.

He _felt_ it.

And then he saw that tiny pearl of perfect, crimson blood roll over the curve of Steve’s fingers… He could feel Steve watching him watch. Tony’s mouth watered in anticipation, his teeth burning almost pleasantly in his jaw, his gaze drawn to the vein throbbing just under the surface of Steve’s skin. He could feel Steve’s heart beating in his own chest.

_Mine_.

Tony felt himself grab Steve’s wrist, his body moving under its own authority.

He just instinctively knew that it wasn’t for Steve to seal this wound.

Tony realised that he knew _how_ to seal a wound…

He knew it would feel good, that it would heal Steve, that…

…That he was _supposed_ to.

He pulled Steve’s fingers to his lips with the nervous excitement of someone stepping into a first kiss. Knowing it was right, and wanted, and natural. Not wondering if there was more to it, anymore.

He let the rush of that scent wash over him, along with the wave of affection and the thrill of anticipation, all part of the same dizzying charge.

And then the tender press of Steve’s fingertips against his lips, and, _God,_ that taste. That wonderful, unique taste, somehow even stronger as a trace on Steve’s skin than it had been when Tony was drinking it by the mouthful.

Steve let go of a soft, pleading sigh, leaning into Tony, his hand melting closer to him, like he was desperately offering himself up – but he knew he couldn’t push forward and take.

Steve waited, barely-patient and determinedly obedient, until Tony parted his lips and let Steve slide his fingers into his mouth, his grip on Steve’s arm still strong enough to control the pace of this. Tony let Steve’s fingertips drag over his tongue, _slowly_ , even as that taste flooded his mouth. He heard Steve’s breathing move high in his chest. He could feel Steve’s pulse racing in his wrist. And then Tony let his eyes slip shut and sucked very gently against Steve’s skin, a sudden burst of blood hitting him just as Steve gasped, and threw his free hand to the back of Tony’s head.

Tony’s entire body was flooded with heat. His head swam. His jaw ached in desperation to suck harder, to take Steve’s fingers to the back of his throat, to bite down-

But of course, he wouldn’t.

He was still Tony, as all these urges overwhelmed him – it was still a ridiculous idea, that he’d _actually_ bite Steve like this. That he would give into this temptation, however intense and physical it was, if it would hurt or scar Steve. When he was supposed to be helping Steve-

When he _knew_ that wasn’t how this worked. That he _had_ to do this slowly.

So, overwhelmed by bloodlust though he undeniably was, Tony sucked Steve’s fingers very gently, letting one hand come to rest softly against Steve’s ribs. He could feel Steve’s determination to stay still, the way his torso trembled under Tony’s palm, the way his muscles tensed into him. And then Tony ran the tip of his tongue directly over the cut, letting the last of that taste spread slowly through his mouth, waiting until the latest wave of euphoria had rolled through his head before he finally relaxed his lips and moved Steve’s hand away.

When Tony opened his eyes, it was like everything was brighter. Like _Steve_ glowed brighter, enough that everything else just disappeared into the light around him.

His _beautiful_ Steve, those flawless blue eyes wide and shining, looking at Tony with such intensity – such naked, unashamed desire. Tony could feel the desperation coiling in Steve’s muscles, he could see every tiny little movement that Steve was struggling so valiantly to contain.

He knew every inch of Steve’s skin… every vein that ran beneath it…

Tony dropped Steve’s wrist, his other hand caressing lower, down to the curve of Steve’s waist. He watched Steve’s throat tense as he swallowed, hard, his eyes dropping to focus on Tony’s mouth. His fingers curled tighter into Tony’s hair, sending a sudden static shiver down the back of his neck. And then Steve moved his other hand, bringing it up to the side of Tony’s face-

And then he hesitated.

Tony saw Steve’s attention get snatched away, his eyes catching on his own hand, and then focusing more intently on his fingertips. His eyes melting from shocked to questioning to quietly amazed… and then Tony turned to follow Steve’s gaze… and found that cut, completely closed.

“How did you…?” Steve breathed.

“I… don’t really know, to be honest with you,” Tony answered, dazed. “I, uh… It’s a… vampire, thing…I think.”

And their eyes met again, and the intention and connection and barely contained passion of that look was a high all of its own.

And then it was like Steve just _broke_.

He grabbed Tony with a speed and strength that Tony had never seen from him, one arm pulling tight across his back, the other hand roughly guiding Tony’s head into a possessive kiss – and suddenly Tony was so desperate for this that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He threw his arms around Steve, clawing frantically at his shirt, grinding his whole body into Steve as Steve tried to hold him closer. Kissing Steve back every bit as hungrily, pushing against him even as Steve forced him back against the counter-

God, he loved that Steve was _strong_ -

That he was solid, and powerful, and… brave, and determined-

_…Not a victim_

_…Not a child_

_…He’s not going to break-_

And then, like he was trying to prove that very point, Steve physically lifted Tony onto the countertop in one impatient thrust, his mouth still devouring Tony’s as he pushed himself closer, forcing Tony’s legs apart.

Tony groaned against Steve’s lips, opening his mouth wider, one hand grabbing the back of Steve’s neck-

_God, he tastes of-_

And then Steve leant into him, his hips pressed hard against him, dragging a long, slow friction against Tony’s groin-

Tony moaned, wrapped his legs tight around him, twisting a fistful of Steve’s hair in a brutal grip as he rocked up into him-

And then Steve broke away to gasp for air, his body still writhing against Tony, his hand still caressing roughly into his skin – and Tony just wanted to keep kissing him, that was all. He was already completely lost in this moment, so totally and utterly focused on this need for Steve-

He pulled Steve’s hair, forcing his head back, and kissed his neck-

And, _fuck_ , the sound Steve made.

A desperate, guttural _growl_ that Tony could literally feel under his lips.

Steve’s fingertips dug into Tony’s back hard enough to bruise, his hips bucking into Tony again as he lifted his head, dragging his other hand through Tony’s hair. Tony sucked against Steve’s throat, running his tongue over his skin, deliberately letting his teeth press into Steve’s neck. Steve let go of a low breath, his hand falling heavily from the back of Tony’s head to the counter-top with dull thud – leverage that he used to push Tony even harder into him.

Tony let his lips trail up along Steve’s throat, leaving a line of deep, purple bruises from the sweep of his shoulder all the way along to the back of his ear – Steve’s breathing getting higher and faster as Tony moved, Tony rocking into him in time with Steve’s ever increasing panting. And then Tony broke away to nip very softly at Steve’s earlobe.

“ _Oh, Tony, please-”_ Steve gasped.

“Come to bed,” Tony whispered. He felt Steve shudder against him in response before he managed to whisper back,

“Yes, please yes.”

*

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how they made it to Tony’s bedroom. He had the vaguest recollection of Tony leading him up the stairs – specifically, he remembered the way Tony’s thumb seemed to caress against his wrist… But not much else.

Until, abruptly, they were standing at the end of Tony’s bed – and Tony’s hands were all over him again.

And – _Jesus_ , Steve didn’t care about anything but this moment.

He didn’t stop to analyse whether he was _supposed_ to, or what any of it meant.

He didn’t stop to wonder how much of it was basic human lust, and how much of it was genuine love, and how much of it was this vampire thing that Steve didn’t fully understand-

It just _was_ – and it was _fucking incredible_.

Tony’s body was just so entirely perfect, moulded against Steve like this – like he’d been made specifically to fit against Steve’s chest.

The strength of him, the power in those arms – exactly enough to push back against Steve, to challenge him-

Just enough that Steve could lose himself completely, _give_ himself completely, without the fear of going too far.

Finally, something was _enough_ -

And then Tony pushed back with more force, all but throwing Steve onto the bed, climbing on top of him with incredible speed. Steve groaned, arching his back in desperation as Tony leant his weight up into his arms, so that he could look down over him.

“Do you care if I tear this shirt?” He whispered, his voice hot and hurried and blunt.

“What? No,” Steve blurted, not even thinking about what any of those words meant-

He _only_ cared about having more of Tony-

Why would he care if Tony ‘tore this shirt’, whatever the fuck a shirt was-

And then Tony gathered the fabric at the centre of Steve’s chest into a fist, and ripped the front of his shirt away in one clean, swift motion-

And it turned out that Steve _did_ care if Tony tore his shirt-

Turned out, that was _the_ hottest fucking thing that had ever-

“Jesus Tony, _ah-_ ” was cut off when Tony dropped to claim his mouth again, kissing him possessively, running his hand over Steve’s shoulders as he impatiently pushed more of the tattered fabric away. Steve felt his lungs burn, his muscles aching with the exertion of keeping up with this, every inch of him flooded with genuine, primal adrenaline. And then, just as Steve was beginning to feel lightheaded from the lack of air, Tony broke away to kiss his neck again – the other side, this time. Trailing a matching line of tingling bruises all the way down the column of Steve’s throat, and then sucking hard at the tender flesh at the curve of his shoulder.

“Jesus Tony please yes,” Steve pleaded, grabbing hold of Tony by the hips and doing everything he could to grind up into him. Tony simply carried on moving down Steve’s chest, kissing him greedily, one hand eventually finding its way to the waistband of Steve’s jeans. “Don’t care if you tear those either,” Steve panted, bucking up against Tony’s hand. He felt Tony’s dark laugh, hot against his skin, and then the friction of denim being yanked down over his legs – and he didn’t even know if Tony _had_ ripped something. But he definitely heard a distinct tear as Tony pulled his own shirt open in one perfunctory tug, sitting up and dropping his shoulders so that Steve could finally push it back over his arms. And then Steve leant up, desperate to kiss Tony again, to feel his skin pressed close against him-

But Tony moved too quickly, pushed him back too forcefully, and suddenly Steve found himself pinned flat to the mattress under one of Tony’s hands, held hard against his shoulder.

Steve barked a frustrated moan, his entire body pulled tight with desperation, his cock achingly hard and burning for any sort of contact. For a second, Steve was too charged with need to even register the pause, still kicking his jeans over his legs without thinking, his hands still clawing at Tony’s sides.

But then Tony pressed just a little firmer against him, swallowing hard and exhaling heavily before he met Steve’s gaze. Steve felt a kick in his gut, and managed to pull himself to a tense, fidgety stop under Tony’s palm. And then Tony flexed his fingers against Steve’s skin, affectionate and reassuring, his eyes wide and warm… but his tone was steady, and very serious, when he asked,

“Do you _want_ me to bite you, Steve?”

Steve’s entire body was immediately alight with such an intense excitement that it was actually frightening.

Steve panicked that he would be able to feel this much, that he wouldn’t be able to speak over the top of it, that he’d never be able to put this into words-

“God yes, please yes,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “I know I do, I’m sure I do, please-”

“If it hurts – if you don’t like this, you _have_ to tell me,” Tony warned, more sternly.

“I will, I promise,” Steve agreed eagerly, nodding earnestly. And then there was a sudden shout in his head, a little voice that Steve had forgotten all about until it cut in, seemingly from nowhere, “but only if you want to.”

And, to begin with, it was probably just a subconscious safeguard – his conscience, or his social training, or whatever part of his brain knew that you did _not_ disregard the feelings of others, however excited you were.

_You know what consent means,_

_You make sure he wants this, you don’t just pressure him into what you want-_

Asking that question was simply something that he’d learned to do, something he associated with moments like these on a very basic level.

It was only when he heard himself say it that Steve realised how much it _did_ matter.

 _Why_ it mattered.

What it meant.

Suddenly, Steve saw that he wanted Tony to _want_ to bite him – that Tony _had_ to want to bite him. Tony ‘going along with this’, or pushing past some personal discomfort to indulge Steve, or simply thinking he should… wasn’t even close to what Steve wanted. It wouldn’t be any sort of compromise, there would be no upside for Steve to take from it, no ‘well, at least he did it’. If Tony did it like _that…_ it would be terrible. The exact opposite of everything Steve wanted so much.

And Steve was absolutely certain that Tony wanted to fuck him right now… but that wasn’t the same thing.

And he knew that Tony already drank his blood, and liked his blood… but that wasn’t the same thing either.

 _This_ was something separate, important… intimate. This was something they both had to be sure of – something they both had to _want._

“If you don’t _want_ to do this, Tony, we-”

“Oh, I do,” Tony cut in, his voice low and dark, his gaze focusing intently on Steve’s throat.

…Steve completely forgot what he was about to say.

His voice literally trailed off into a whimper as he tried to process that. Realising as it hit him that _that_ was at least half the fantasy.

Except that even in his fantasies Tony’s voice had never been _that_ hot.

He’d never been as beautiful as this, not even in Steve’s daydreams.

“Yeah?” Steve breathed, honest and vulnerable.

And Tony smiled softly, his hand caressing over Steve shoulder, his eyes snapping up to meet Steve’s again before he answered.

“I know I do. I’m sure I do. But _only_ if you want to.”

Steve held his breath as he nodded again, _I do. I promise, I’ll tell you if I change my mind._

And then he saw Tony soften just slightly, his head dropping gently as he smiled his acceptance. The tiniest gesture, the faintest little sound, but Steve felt it cut right to the core of him. His body tensed upwards involuntarily, his heart kicking hard against his ribs, his cock throbbing painfully against his stomach.

_He wants to bite me._

_He’s going to bite me._

_Tony’s going to bite me._

And then he _saw_ Tony’s body change. The way his muscles rolled under his skin as that power coiled in him, the slow and measured way he tensed his shoulders – like a tiger preparing to pounce. The way his eyes darkened and widened into pools of deep, liquid black. The way his lips grew heavier as he parted them.

There was something undeniably _animal_ about the way Tony looked at Steve then…

But there was also something _more_ than human about it.

They way his gaze fell on the curve of Steve’s waist, like it was drawn to something. The careful, searching pressure of his palm, slowly stroking its way down the side of Steve’s body. The awareness of Tony’s movements and the calm intensity on his face and the physical control that radiated from him… There was something almost spiritual about it. Ancient, and powerful, and _above_ what Steve was able to see and understand.

Tony’s hand came to a confident rest on the sweep of Steve’s hip, his eyes settling and narrowing on one specific point. 

Steve felt maybe the briefest flicker of confusion as Tony dropped his head – maybe he’d assumed that Tony would lean up to his neck, or take his wrist-

And then he felt Tony press a tender kiss to the soft flesh just above his hipbone-

_Oh God, there, please there, exactly there-_

A thousand sparks of white hot pleasure ran over his skin, every muscle tightening towards that sensation, his head suddenly swimming from the abundance of contact-

And then the faint scratch of Tony’s teeth, a shock of friction that tore through him, mercilessly taunting that growing desire. A stab of visceral satisfaction, like finally finding an itch – the scorching frustration of not quite being able to get at it. The torturous ecstasy of teasing _exactly_ the right place.

“Oh, fuck Tony _please,_ ” Steve sobbed, subconsciously trying to roll his body up against Tony’s mouth. His balls tightened painfully, his cock weeping steadily against his skin – but that wasn’t the contact he wanted. Suddenly it felt as though his every sensation was centred right there beneath Tony’s lips. Waves of increasingly compulsive pleasure rolled through his body as Tony sucked harder at his skin, pulsing in him hotter and sharper-

And Tony then sank his teeth into Steve’s hip in one swift, clean bite.

Steve threw his head back and screamed, one hand balling the bedsheets into a fist, the other frantically grabbing the back of Tony’s head.

_Oh God, don’t stop,_

_Please don’t stop,_

He was, in the first instance, completely overwhelmed by the sheer devastating pleasure of that bite.

The perfect, purifying pain of it, slicing through every layer of resistance in Steve’s body, cutting him open-

The indescribable, incandescent intensity of it, the way it broke through all the numbness and confusion and made everything vivid and _real_ -

The exhilarating thrill of the danger of it, the strangeness of it, the newness of it

The bruising pressure, the eye-watering sharpness, the dull burn that spread through his hips in its wake.

And then the low, comfortable ache of Tony’s teeth settling into his flesh, a warmth rolling through his muscles-

The sudden shiver of pleasure as Tony moved just slightly, cutting into him just a little deeper, a fresh shock of pain running through the afterglow of the first.

“Oh-fuck-that-feels-good,” Steve babbled, barely aware he was talking, as he writhed against Tony’s mouth. Gently urging Tony into him, trying to work himself off against Tony’s teeth, trying to chase that rush of pain.

And then he felt Tony suck against his skin.

And then a surge of dizzying, shuddering relief, as all the tension left his body in one immediate, intensely satisfying rush-

A deep, dragging sensation, right through his hips-

_Oh God, he’s drinking my blood, he’s drinking my blood, from me, right now-_

“Oh, fuck, Tony, baby, God,” Steve whimpered, still struggling to grind up against him – simply unable to, now that his body had fallen weak around him.

Tony sucked another long, slow mouthful, pulling that pleasure up from even deeper, tugging it from the small of Steve’s back. That feeling moved hotter and thicker now, like it was caressing Steve from under his skin, curling low in his groin, pulsing deep in his muscles.

His cock throbbed pleasantly against his abs, feeling that friction roll from _inside_ his body-

He didn’t know whether his eyes had fallen shut or if his vision had just completely clouded.

His entire being burned with the effort of staying tense like this, to the point that he actually felt as though he was floating, disconnected from his own limbs.

The pleasure of this was so intense it was almost painful.

The pain of this was so sharp that it pushed through into total, mindless bliss.

And then Tony sucked again, shorter and shallower this time, like an electric shock through his already over sensitive flesh-

And Steve came. Hard.

It was the most disorienting hit of physical confusion, like every one of his senses had just been severed from his conscious mind and were running freestyle, doing whatever the fuck they felt like, whether it was coherent or not.

His cock throbbed sharply, oversensitive from his climax and still burning to be touched.

His body trembled, not sure what to do with the afterglow, while Tony’s teeth were still buried in his hip. Not sure how to tense and soften all at once, _how_ to feel all of these pleasures at once-

And then Tony pulled free in one smooth motion… and Steve’s head just _swam…_

The sheer release of that feeling-

The wonderful, comfortable space it left behind. Like Tony had sliced through a layer of scar tissue, like he’d literally cut something free inside Steve, like Steve was suddenly able to breathe for the first time in so long.

He heard himself choke out a sob, his body trembling as it turned to water.

And then there was the briefest flash of something like panic – like he might literally be consumed by this feeling, overwhelmed by it, carried away on it so far and so fast that he’d never find his way back-

And then he felt Tony’s lips press oh-so-tenderly to his hip again, kissing the wound, then running his tongue very slowly over the cut.

Such a simple, caring gesture, pulling Steve back into the real world…Back to Tony…

“Tony,” he whimpered, “Tony, Tony, Tony…”

He felt Tony smile against his skin, his hand caressing affectionately into Steve’s side as he carried on kissing him, slowly and deliberately…

Sealing the wound. Healing it.

Making everything better…

And then Tony was leaning over him.

His lips were stained with Steve’s blood.

“Oh Tony, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

And Tony _smiled_.

“You are spectacular, Steve,” he answered, his voice rich and silky, _almost_ a growl. “You are _brave_ , and kind, and good. And I have never wanted anyone like this, I have never felt this way before… That was incredible. You are incredible…” And he put one hand to the side of Steve’s face, very gently stroking away a tear that Steve hadn’t even noticed.

Steve just took a trembling breath, and let his head fall against Tony’s palm…

He was maybe distantly aware that… _something_ was happening to him now. Something distinct from the emotional elation and the physical euphoria… A specific feeling of intoxication, of something separate and deliberate shifting his perspective, his senses…

He felt his mind slip into a different place… and then he was just there.

Surrendered and sensitive and focused entirely on Tony.

His thoughts melting and stretching, changing…

_You are brave and kind… and good._

_You are good._

_Tony is happy, and satisfied, because of you._

_Tony is happy, and satisfied, and you are good._

“Please Tony, fuck me,” Steve begged, his voice still small and unsteady. Fast realising just how much he wanted Tony to fuck him – that he _needed_ it. More than any serum induced arousal had ever triggered in him… or just entirely different to, maybe.

Because this _wasn’t_ a desperate, physical need for friction or release.

This wasn’t about a burning excitement or personal temptation.

In a weird way, it was like it wasn’t even about sex… Steve had already come. He was already floating in the afterglow of release, entirely physically satisfied, already living the reality of his own perfect fantasy-

He just needed to feel Tony inside him.

He needed to be closer to Tony, as close as it was possible to be.

He needed to feel Tony come.

“Please Tony…”

But Tony just smiled again, and _shhh_ ’d him gently, and dropped to kiss him very softly as he carefully encouraged Steve to part his legs.

His lips tasted of copper.

_That’s your blood, you know._

Steve could barely move, his limbs were so heavy, still so distant from him, but he did his best to help Tony position him. And then Tony moved to kneel between Steve’s legs, stroking a careful hand along the inside of his thigh. Steve let go of another trembling sigh, overwhelmed by the simple effort of keeping his head raised enough to look at Tony.

And then Tony looked up at him, so kindly…

“It’s okay sweetheart, lie back,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.”

And Steve’s body seemed to follow that command directly, his head falling into the pillows, a pleading little _oh_ falling over his lips…

And he just kept falling.

The world around him faded to nothing, the very concept of reality disappeared, Steve lost all sight of the barrier between his own consciousness and everything else.

He was just floating in this wonderful feeling, just letting it happen to him, just letting it feel good… just that.

Barely bothering to recognise what was going on when Tony’s fingertip, cool and wet with lube now, began to tease him open, and then pushed inside him… just letting it roll through him. Not keeping track of the time, not building to anything. Just relaxing into the feeling of Tony’s fingers twisting inside him, letting the sensation melt out through his hips and run up his back…

And then Tony pulling away from him, and the cold absence he left…

Steve only just managed to open his eyes before he felt the weight of the mattress shift underneath him, his vision still blotted with stars when he felt Tony position himself between Steve’s thighs.

Steve’s body stayed relaxed for him, his hips lifting ever so slightly – all he could manage.

And then he felt Tony hands curl over his waist, firm and calm and _commanding-_

A low growl rolled from Steve’s chest as Tony’s cock pushed past his rim, a pleasant heat flooding up in his loosened muscles as Tony slowly filled him up. And then Tony caressed one hand up to Steve’s shoulder, grinding into him and he leaned down over him, his chest finally pressing against him as he took Steve’s mouth in a possessive kiss-

And Steve was just overwhelmed with such a feeling of _rightness_. Like everything was eased and soothed and secured, when he could feel Tony inside him like this.

He felt comfortable.

He felt safe.

He felt… _good_.

And then he felt Tony rock into him, slow and deep, and then again, and again… And Steve just let his eyes fall shut again, let his whole body fall open to this, simply letting Tony fuck into him, over and over… He’d lost all sense of time, or perspective. He’d stopped thinking in actual words. He just relaxed into this easy, endless pleasure, this wonderful feeling of simple, aimless bliss.

Knowing everything was good

_I only have to be good for Tony_

_I can be good for Tony_

_I am good for Tony_

And then Tony broke the kiss to bury his head in Steve’s neck, his breath hot against Steve’s skin as he whispered,

“ _Mine,”_

Steve gasped, his eyes snapping open again.

Oh God, he loved that.

He wanted _that_.

He wanted Tony to say it again, he wanted-

“Yours,” he promised, because it was all he could manage before his voice was swallowed up by the emotion.

Tony thrust into him again, harder now, his fingertips pressing more firmly into Steve’s skin. Steve felt his cock throb hard again, like it was simply stretching into the experience, just another part of his body completely flooded by the pleasure of this… Still not aching towards a release of his own.

He just wanted Tony to fuck him

To _use_ him.

To claim him, to-

And then it was like Tony had decided to do exactly that.

Suddenly Tony was thrusting into him in a deep, brutal rhythm, his hands pinning Steve under him, his breathing growling roughly from the bottom of his chest.

And Steve just allowed it to wash over him, wave after wave of euphoria, a dreamy smile on his face as Tony fucked harder and faster.

“ _My_ Steve,” Tony hissed, desperate and possessive. Steve moaned softly, his cock twitching as he replayed it in his head.

_Yes, that._

“My beautiful Steve,” Tony whispered, his voice tightening, that control beginning to fray at the edges,

_Oh please yes, Tony, yes,_

“ _Mine,_ ” Tony barked, digging his fingers into Steve’s shoulder, burying his hips into him, his voice breaking down into an animal roar as he came.

“Fuck yes Tony yes,” Steve breathed-

He could _feel_ Tony coming inside him.

Steve could feel Tony’s cock pulse hard against him, the thick heat of him filling Steve up-

And then the _faintest_ touch of Tony’s palm, barely a whisper, over the head of Steve’s touch starved and over sensitive cock.

Steve felt his balls pull up tight into him, his hips tensing with painful speed as his something inside him simply gave way without warning, his climax crashing over him, breaking into the pleasure of Tony, still coming inside him.

The sensation of it building to such intensity that he just sort of… whited out.

Suspended for however long somewhere between consciousness and not, entirely at the mercy of the intense chaos of feeling that he’d fallen into.

He felt Tony pull out of him, but Steve couldn’t open his eyes, or couldn’t focus his vision… he couldn’t tell which.

He could hear Tony whispering to him, reassurances and endearments and praise that echoed in and out of reality

And then he felt Tony’s hand cup the side of his face, tilting his chin up just slightly. So, of course, Steve made himself focus, _made_ himself meet Tony’s eye and listen when he said, very carefully,

“Are you okay, Steve?”

And Steve heard himself snort a laugh, which he immediately bit back.

Oh, everything felt… _watery and distant and…sparkly…_

And then he nodded, softly at first, and then more enthusiastically as he struggled to find the words,

“Yeah, I’m… good. So good. That was so good, that-”

And his voice just cracked from under him, like he’d fallen through a floor. Suddenly, he was _crying_ , genuinely, bodily sobbing-

Oh, God, where the hell had that come from?

Steve took a deep, shuddering breath, trying in vain to contain this wave of emotion, suddenly panicking that Tony would think he was upset-

But Tony just smiled, kind and understanding and patient. And then he shifted his weight so that he could lie on the bed right next to Steve, and gently roll him so that he was lying against Tony’s chest – another sob breaking out of him as he buried his head into Tony’ neck.

“I’m s-sorry,” he hiccupped, struggling to get enough air to speak-

And then he felt Tony’s hand on the back of his neck, and Tony dropping his head to whisper softly into Steve’s hair,

“Don’t be sorry baby, it’s okay, I understand. I promise it’s alright.”

So, then Steve laughed again.

And then he was sort of laughing and crying at the same time-

Jesus fuck, he had no idea what his body was doing, what his brain was doing, where any of these reactions were coming from or what the fuck to do with them...

But Tony just held his palm firm against Steve’s skin, and whispered over and over that it was okay, as Steve struggled to get his faculties under some sort of control.

First pulling his breathing into some sort of heavily, shaky pattern.

Then stifling his sobs.

Then stilling his body, until it was just a boneless weight against Tony’s chest.

“You still with me, Steve?” Tony smiled, after a few moments.

“Mm-hm,” Steve murmured against his skin. And then he felt Tony card his hand through his hair…

Steve’s skin felt exposed and sensitive and _new_ …

Everything seemed to flow through him so much more easily now, quicker and smoother and…more…

Every little shiver, at the root of every blade of hair, running across every nerve in his body. Spreading out in all directions, melding and shifting and sparking as they ran into other sensations. Everything just floating in the collection of vaguely connected thoughts and limbs that comprised Steve Rogers, right now…

He tried again to tell Tony how good it was, how much better he felt, how much he loved him… something like that. His head was too muddled to turn the sentiments into words, his mouth too heavy to form them. It came out as a sort of slurred, muffled groan… Tony just squeezed him tighter, and hummed an affectionate smile into his hair.

“Okay sweetheart, you just rest there for a minute. Then I’ll get you some water, and we’ll get you cleaned up…” He promised, and pressed a tender kiss to Steve’s forehead. And then he carried on, more quietly, like he was simply musing to himself, “my perfect, _strong_ Steve…”

And Steve would’ve liked to express the deep joy that swelled up in him then. He’d have liked to have shown Tony what it meant to him, that Tony was satisfied, that Tony was _pleased_ with him.

But there just weren’t words big enough for it.

There was nothing this was remotely like, no point of reference… there was no way this could be described with words that had been used to talk about other things…

So, Steve just cuddled closer to him, exhaling deeply before he whispered,

“Yours.”

And, judging from the way Tony sighed, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...um... it seems only fair to warn you... we're not *quite* at the happy ending yet.  
> I mean, we're not *far* off...  
> And there will *be* a happy ending...  
> But, maybe just a little more angst before we get there...?


	18. Chapter 18

Tony woke up peacefully, just before dawn the next day – and was _comfortable_.

He recognised it immediately, rather than ‘thought it’, per se. Just the overall effect of being warm, and snug and surrounded by softness. The general feeling of being rested, and satisfied, and safe. The vague awareness that this was unusual – but only insofar as it made it seem all the nicer.

For a moment, maybe two, Tony simply enjoyed existing.

And then that general contentment began to form into something more like conscious thought… He became aware that this feeling of security and happiness had a form, a reason, a face, a name.

_Steve_.

And then he thought, quite clearly - _I suppose I’ll have a nervous break down in a few minutes._

So, Tony knew what he’d done, even before he got as far as actually thinking back to it.

Some part of him knew it was ‘the bad thing’, even if it was only as a vague concept.

There was some distant recollection of his usual responses, even if he hadn’t quite slipped into them yet…

He opened his eyes, at last. He waited for them to burn… and then causally remembered that, of course, they wouldn’t.

_…Because you drank Steve’s blood last night._

_…From Steve._

_…You bit him._

…Huh. Still no.

Tony still couldn’t quite push his mind past, _yes, I know. I remember._

He knew there _were_ emotions attached to these objective facts, that the very idea of this would usually inspire specific and terrible fears. He was even beginning to remember what some of those fears were. But he simply didn’t feel anything other than comfortable. He just… _didn’t_.

So, almost trying to goad himself into it now, he glanced over at Steve-

_…Oh._

Steve had never looked lovelier- _nothing_ had ever looked as beautiful as Steve did, just then. His lips looked so full and soft when he was sleeping, almost smiling. He had the sheets curled into the fingers of one hand… perfect, strong hands…

Tony was just overwhelmed with love for him. It was like there was an orchestral flourish in his head, like a shimmering spotlight had just appeared on Steve’s glorious form. Such an intense and genuine affection that Tony couldn’t _help_ but smile, even as he was trying to tell himself that this was really very bad…

Somehow, right now at least, remembering that he’d bitten Steve only added to Tony’s sudden swell of contentment. Or, when he forced himself to really examine that…

It was really the memory of what happened _afterwards_ that had the same flavour as this specific feeling.

This warm, _right_ feeling… now that Tony thought about it, this was the feeling that had soaked into him as he’d taken Steve into his arms _afterwards_ … taken care of him… a feeling that had apparently hung around.

_… I’m not still high, though._

Tony frowned thoughtfully. For the first time, it occurred to him that there were distinct parts to this… _thing_ , with Steve…

It was the first time he dared to ask himself what he meant by ‘a thing’. The first time Tony had allowed himself to actually try the word ‘relationship’ out for size, the first time he’d even _thought_ that word without immediately admonishing himself for being so selfish and silly…

Which wasn’t to say Tony had decided it _wasn’t_ selfish or silly, exactly.

This was before he got to that part. This was the first step on his way to that bit – the previously unthinkable step of _actually_ considering whether he could ever reasonably call Steve his boyfriend… What meaning that term inherently carried, how it would look for them specifically…

Realising that obviously he was in _some_ sort of relationship with Steve… After all these years casually dismissing that perspective, as though it were _literally_ impossible for Tony to get close to someone. Dismissing certain interpretations of this, because obviously he ‘couldn’t get close to people’. Carrying that assumption even as he was dressing for a date, or while Steve was cooking him dinner, or when he was telling Steve that he could have a photograph… After all this time assuming that he _had_ to find a different starting point, Tony had only just realised that the starting point was clearly that he’d gotten close to Steve already. These were no longer individual things that were happening. _Whatever_ he ended up calling it, whatever it looked like in the end… He _knew_ Steve now. He’d let Steve know him. They’d shared something. They had… _a thing_.

Which made this the first time Tony could acknowledge that Steve had an effect on him, in just that simple human way. To realise that maybe some of these new ideas and feelings were simply the result of _loving_ someone… or the effect of someone so wonderful that Tony could fall in love with them.

This was Tony’s first real opportunity to think about what they _could_ be for each other in human terms. How much better his life might be with just some of that support, and understanding, and genuine affection for something… To recognise that part of the draw he felt to Steve, or the light-headedness he felt around him, had nothing to do with being a vampire. That part of the calm and confidence Tony was feeling, in spite of this enormous event, was simply because _Steve_ made him feel safer, and better about himself…

It would undeniably have been a happier line of thought.

Unfortunately, at the same moment, Tony was also beginning to see that there was something…else.

A specific _vampire_ … thing.

Something that he’d been flinching from just much, he realised now… something that was also _already_ there…

The all-encompassing high that overwhelmed him when he drank Steve’s blood.

The way he’d caught the scent of it, the instant Steve cut his hand.

The way he’d _known_ when Steve turned up the night before.

The way he’d known exactly where to bite, and when to stop, and how to seal that wound…

And that sharp, bodily reaction when he realised Steve was in pain… Which part was that? Was it the vampire in him that could _feel_ that pain so deeply… Was it the human part of him that _cared_?

And the warm, _right_ feeling afterwards, which… part, was that? That overwhelming instinct to _take care_ of Steve, that wonderful sense of satisfaction that had washed over Tony as he watched Steve snuggle softly into sleep… Was that because Tony loved him?

Or because Tony was… _Steve’s_ vampire?

Because Steve was- because they were-

And then suddenly there were all these words in Tony’s head. He even heard them in Obie’s voice.

_Sanguine_

_Consort_

_Sire_

Tony’s blood ran cold in a way it hadn’t for nearly twenty years.

He sat up, oh so very carefully – absolutely desperate not to wake Steve right at this moment.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true – part of Tony wanted to crawl into Steve’s arms and bury his head in Steve’s neck and ask him to drown out all those words…

But he also knew that Steve shouldn’t wake up and see him… _unsure_ , like this.

This was potentially going to be an emotional morning for Steve, whether he woke up feeling bathed in love or woke up with doubts of his own. Either way, he’d _need_ Tony to be certain. To be kind, and reassuring – not to need reassurances of his own. Not right now. Tony _knew_ that.

_…so, is that a ‘boyfriend’ impulse, or a ‘vampire’ impulse?_

_…is that what I’m supposed to be for him all the time, or is that just because it’s right this moment?_

_…Sire_

_Sanguine._

Tony waited until he was sitting at the end of the bed before he allowed himself a shudder at that.

Just the _sound_ of those words was a visceral, physical reminder of that horrible night, and the dark months that followed it. Words he hadn’t let enter his head since he slammed those dusty books closed when he was 21. Words he _associated_ with Obie, and pain, and fear… and shame. To hear them again now, even in his head, was an immediate trigger of alarm and distress – before he could think what any one of them meant.

And when he tried to… He found he couldn’t even remember what half of these words were for. He couldn’t be sure he was remembering any of them right. He couldn’t remember whether they were things Obie told him _that_ night, or during those weeks he held Tony captive to his shame – or even if they were things Tony stumbled upon in his _brief_ period of research, before he’d realised that he just couldn’t cope with this concept. Because all the words had been in Obie’s voice, and still were, and the very _idea_ of them was still enough to make Tony’s mouth water in fear.

…He couldn’t call Steve his _consort._

It wasn’t even the word itself that he objected to. Tony was still too overwhelmed by the whole thing to recognise it as a word. It was just the idea of _having_ a word. A special _vampire_ word. Taking something from a horrible language that he’d only heard spoken by the man he hated most, and applying it to _Steve_ -

It was one thing to think that he’d gotten into a relationship with Steve while he was a vampire – that was probably reckless enough. But to think that they’d gotten into some sort of _vampire relationship_ -

God, all those things Obie said to him, that he’d blocked out for so long. Things he’d decided were creepy and ridiculous and nonsensical when he was 21… But, what if-

_There will come a time when you’ll want to bite someone, and then you’ll find yourself picturing it – you’ll understand how to do it, because the right way will feel right to you._

Tony swallowed hard. A bitter taste of bile…and popcorn.

Obie made him popcorn that night… Maybe three nights after he’d murdered him, Obie had made Tony popcorn, and come to find him in the den, and started on another of his softly spoken explanations…

_It’s only very special people you’ll want to kill, because those are the people you’ll want to live forever – do you understand?_

It wasn’t just remembering; it was like being back there. Tony could literally smell the butter, he could hear the hum of the air conditioner. 

_He called himself my sire…_

_And I laughed, even though it made me feel sick…_

Tony felt sick just the same way now. A sickness that seemed to move up into his chest, burning his throat…

But it wasn’t the total nervous breakdown he was bracing for.

It still wasn’t anything like the mental break he’d had the night Obie bit him, when Tony found himself screaming words that hadn’t gone via his head. It wasn’t like the day that he’d finally snapped and kicked Obie out of the house forever, his head entirely numb even as he was throwing things at the doorframe. Both of those times, Tony had essentially stepped outside of his own body, into a dizzying, terrifying freefall of pure feeling-

He’d been expecting something along those lines now.

But, as frightening and painful as this moment was… it wasn’t in that league. It was a different thing entirely. Tony might’ve felt tense and nauseous, but he could at least process these responses from his body. These thoughts might be horrible and unstructured, but they weren’t running away from him or dissolving entirely to mush.

…This might just feel like a regular human panic, actually. A _really_ bad one, but still.

Something was keeping Tony tied to the real world, keeping him from losing himself completely…

And then he glanced back at Steve again.

And almost immediately that sickness faded… more like Tony had simply forgotten it for a moment than because it had eased. But still, the relief was helpful. The pause on his darker thoughts. A reminder that there was only so bad things could really be, wherever this train of thought led him-

Because if nothing else, Steve _existed_.

Simply knowing that much made Tony feel better about… well, everything. It made the world seem a fundamentally more positive place, it expanded his very definition of hope and potential. Even if that was all Tony ever got out of this… It would have made any pain worthwhile, given any life more meaning, guaranteed that he ended up in a better place than when he started.

_I will never stop loving you, and I will never stop taking care of you. I will look after you for the rest of your life. _

Which was at least in Tony’s own voice.

Well, obviously – Obie had never said anything like _that_. Ever, to anyone, probably.

…And that one didn’t come with a raft of _whys_ and _what ifs._ Even though Tony knew, logically, that instinct should be subject to the same scrutiny as everything else – even though, to anyone else, it would seem as curious and questionable an impulse as any of them…

Nope, that one he was apparently just sure about.

Whatever happened, however it had to look, Tony was entirely sure that he’d spent the rest of his life making sure that Steve was okay.

It didn’t matter whether that one _was_ a vampire thing, or just a Steve thing… It simply _was_ , regardless.

So, that was a starting point of sorts.

Although, not much of one, Tony realised with a sigh. Not if he still couldn’t know what he was even supposed to be protecting Steve _from…_

God, Tony wished he could decide what this was _like_.

He could find endless social and political metaphors for their situation, each leading to a different conclusion. All of them underpinned by unspoken assumptions that Tony could never quite pin down.

He could try to convince himself that what Obie did to him had _nothing to do_ with what he wanted to do with Steve. That just because it was the same ‘act’, sort of, didn’t mean it was the same thing. That what Obie did was unwanted, and violent, and motivated by a desire for control and his own self-gratification – that Tony wasn’t like him, for thinking this way now.

…But then he’d think of himself as a sexual abuser, giving that same justification. A teacher taking advantage of a pupil, or a prison warden sleeping with an inmate. Telling himself that he’d done this reckless and harmful thing – something that Steve couldn’t possibly have the capacity or the information to consent to – because Steve _said_ it was okay. Because Tony was doing it out of genuine affection rather than a desire for control. Because Tony was being nicer about it than _his_ abuser was.

In that context, none of these things were excuses…

And, of course, Tony had no way of knowing what it was _like_ , what context to use or which role he was playing… because he didn’t know anything about it.

He didn’t know if Steve _could_ consent to this. Tony didn’t know how this process was affecting his _own_ capacity – how could he know whether Steve had just been permanently high since the first time Tony grabbed his wrist? Tony didn’t know what this bond was or how it worked or even if it was all in his own head – and how could he ask Steve whether he was in his right mind or not? How could Tony trust the answer?

On top of which, Tony couldn’t tell Steve what he was consenting _to_. Tony had no idea what psychological or physical changes Steve could go through if they kept doing this – for all Tony knew, Steve was liable to grow gills. Even if Steve _said_ he was prepared to take a leap of total blind faith like that… Could Tony risk the thing he cared about most, on that little information? Could _he_ let Steve take that risk?

And, even without the question of anyone’s literal capacity, there was so much else to complicate this… Tony couldn’t be sure whether he was _already_ reliant on Steve’s blood. Or addicted to it, maybe. And they both knew how much good it had done him… Would Steve feel free to walk away from this arrangement, even now? Would he feel like he was costing Tony something, if he decided he didn’t want this anymore? Would he still pretend to be willing, even if he grew to hate it?

Would Steve feel free to be himself in any sort of personal relationship, if he was also acting as a donor? Would he be completely free to lose his temper or storm off after an argument or have a bad day of his own, if there was this burning physical obligation between them at all times?

Would Steve feel like he _had_ to take part in this inherently intimate act – maybe even that he _had_ to go along with whatever intimacy came afterwards, if it proved to be a fundamental part of it – even if he was mad at Tony, or dealing with his own issues, or just not in the mood?

Would Tony feel like he _had_ to do this for Steve? If they allowed this arrangement to become something permanent between them, and it did fundamentally alter Steve’s mind or body in some way… If Steve grew to _need_ this, or even just feel like he did… Would Tony be forcing some horrible, unknowable risk onto Steve, if he ever let a personal argument disrupt this physical exchange?

Was this… _biting_ … thing, more like the relationship between a Doctor and a patient? Something that was fine, in and of itself, and could even possibly be friendly… But couldn’t involve sex, or romance, or personal bonds of trust…

Was it more like the relationship between a drug dealer and a client… and which one was Tony, in that analogy?

What _if_ Steve woke up and said he loved that feeling _, needed_ that feeling… was Tony being needlessly cruel to both of them, saying no? Or was he being unthinkably selfish, irresponsible, letting Steve get further into this, without knowing what he was getting into…

Did _taking care of Steve_ mean listening to him when he said he wanted both of these things? Or being the responsible one, and saying it had to be one or the other? That Steve couldn’t be in a personal relationship with someone he was obliged to like that. That Tony couldn’t involve Steve in this dangerous, unknown world of vampirism if he was going to be anything like his boyfriend…

It did _feel_ like the two things were connected, though.

For as long as he was being brave, and thinking about things… Tony had to acknowledge that biting Steve felt like it simply _was_ sexual, and romantic, in nature.

Like it _should_ be.

That powerful urge to _have_ Steve, the moment he tasted Steve’s blood…

The deep sense that it wouldn’t be _right_ to do something like this, with someone he didn’t love – someone he didn’t want, body and soul…

Someone that didn’t _want_ to.

Part of Tony felt like it was short sighted to dismiss that impulse. That _bodily_ reaction.

The body _does_ have ways of telling you when it’s in need…

And… Well, the impulse human beings have, to make the process of procreation into a romantic and sexual act, and to express romantic desires through sex… That was considered a relatively natural, straight-forward thing, right? Maybe not universal, but by no means _weird_ … There was quite often a strong link between the biological process of sex and the human understanding of love – a link that often led to confusion and heartbreak in the real world... But it wasn’t the case that people should actively separate sex from love, or that the emotional significance of procreation was ‘made up’… Or that there was any less confusion and heartache, in a world where love and sex were kept separate.

And… _Sex_ had been policed and politicised since the dawn of time, and time and time again the moral judgement of society had been proven wrong. Gay people were judged and persecuted and made to think badly of _themselves_ for centuries, for what were perfectly normal, healthy thoughts. Women throughout history were made to feel guilty or dirty for instincts that there was never anything wrong with. None of those people would’ve been wrong, to accept the authority of their own feelings and desires – to accept their own nature regardless of what anyone thought of it-

…But it didn’t help that Obie had something so much like that, before doing something that was so undeniably, unforgivably _wrong._

…If Tony could follow this instinct _just_ because it felt right to him, then so could Obie, and… no.

There _had_ to be more to it than that.

And…laying it all out like this, the difference suddenly seemed entirely obvious-

That it was all a case of harm, and consent.

Those two questions could sort out the trickiest or most controversial of the analogies Tony had come up with. The reasons some of these things were alright, and some were _all_ wrong, came down to whether everyone had _really_ agreed to it, and what actual, objective harm it caused.

…And that was the reason none of these examples helped him now.

Because Tony couldn’t _know_ if Steve could really consent to this.

And Tony couldn’t know the real harm of doing it.

…And, increasingly, he was worried that he couldn’t know the real harm of _not_ doing it.

That maybe this bond _was_ real, and these feelings _did_ mean something. That Tony could be failing Steve in a deep and brutal way, if his own prejudices kept him from believing Steve when he said he wanted this…

And there just wasn’t any way to _know_ any of it, without going back to that night.

Tony set his teeth and swallowed hard – more out of habit than anything. His body braced for the onslaught of revulsion and shame, already gearing himself up to push through it-

Finding instead just a cold, hardening resignation.

Oh, this was going to be horrible. Beyond horrible. This was going to mean clawing every one of his worst nightmares to the surface, putting his entire sense of self, his whole concept of reality, into question…

It was going to mean reliving every moment of his darkest memories, and pulling them to pieces, and forcing himself to be honest about them.

It was going to mean trawling through all that creepy, ridiculous mythology, all those terrifying physiological details, all those awkward psychological questions.

It was going to mean facing up to the fact that he’d been hiding in a workshop for twenty years. It was going to mean confronting all the things he’d been hiding _from_ … it was going to mean asking himself if he’d gotten it wrong _all_ this time.

Tony had been running from this for almost half his life.

And that just wasn’t an option anymore…

Because, Steve.

And it wasn’t the same as the first night he’d met Steve, when Tony had been forced to bury his issues and let Steve in. This wasn’t like the morning after Obie bit him, when Tony had no choice but to swallow his panic and carry on existing.

This wasn’t ignoring a problem because there was no alternative.

This was choosing to face that problem, because there was something more important.

This wasn’t _I can, because I have to._

This was, _I am going to, because Steve._

…That made such a difference.

Tony looked back at Steve again, and carefully acknowledged the urge to lie down beside him…

The part of it that was undeniably a human reaction to the pain Tony was feeling – a response to the part of _Steve_ that made Tony feel secure, and worthwhile.

And the part of it that whispered to Tony in a different voice. The pervasive sense that he knew how it was supposed to work this morning, that he was _supposed_ to pull Steve into his arms and… Tony recognised that _that_ part was definitely a vampire thing.

So not _all_ the vampire things were ugly and frightening, then…

That made a huge difference, too.

But, wherever it came from, Tony had to ignore that impulse – at least, for now. Until he could work out what all of these impulses meant, how they worked together and where they could possibly lead. Without time, and very deep thought, and a lot more research, all Tony really had was that same list of questions.

_How the hell could I have any sort of grown up relationship with someone, when I’ve not even left the house in twenty years?_

_How do I walk back into the world after all that time – and as a vampire, no less? How can this weird condition fit into any part of human life?_

_Could it ever really be the right thing to do, to bite Steve? How could it be possible, that something as dark and as terrifying as that could be healthy or moral?_

_What could I ever bring to a relationship, given everything I am, all the choices I’ve already made? What could I ever take from a relationship like this, knowing that whatever happens, I’m now entirely and eternally dedicated to him?_

…But, for the first time ever, these questions weren’t completely rhetorical.

*

Steve woke up smiling.

Which made this the first time Steve hadn’t woken up anxious and irritable in oh so long… but he barely even noticed, at first.

He was just so entirely confident that the world was a wonderful, optimistic, _exciting_ place, that there was something joyous waiting for him, that he _wanted_ to wake up.

And then he felt his body reaching out automatically, a physical reaction to that increasing, wordless longing… one arm stretching across the sheets… searching…

And then a sharp stab of alarm, when he realised the bed was empty.

_Tony._

That alarm flared instantly into full blown panic; his body shocked into blindingly vivid consciousness in less than a second. Steve sat bolt upright, already scanning the room, so shaken that he literally couldn’t take in any of the details-

Until he found Tony, sitting fully clothed in a chair by the window – already turning to look at him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony smiled, kindly, his eyes softening in concern.

…And suddenly Steve just felt entirely blindsided.

A flood of relief that Tony was here crashed right into a wall of concern – because Tony wasn’t where he _should_ be. That genuine warmth in Tony’s expression seemed to ease one fear and stoke another… Not the reaction Steve had been most scared of, but still, not quite _right_.

“What’s wrong? Why weren’t you here, why are you dressed?” Steve blurted – much to his own surprise. It all just came out in a rush, with no possible place for him to intercept it… And then he saw Tony hesitate slightly, halfway through pushing himself up off of his chair. The way his face flashed in such a relatable, everyday expression of alarm, very briefly-

 _Awkward_.

_Oh, fuck, what the hell are you saying?_

Steve suddenly realised how completely ridiculous that would’ve sounded…

No. Actually. It _wasn’t_ quite that.

Some part of Steve had suddenly remembered that he wasn’t _supposed_ to say things like that – that he was _supposed_ to save people from ever feeling awkward like that. That he was supposed to save people, always. That he was supposed to be the responsible one.

That, fundamentally, something about his very identity was at odds with ever being as honest and as needy and as reactionary as _that_.

…Which was another thing that struck him as immediately alarming, in the moment.

Remembering, in one burst of inspiration, that Captain America existed… but not how he worked.

Steve _still_ couldn’t remember how to play that role, how to make sense of it – how it could possibly fit with the world as he currently saw it.

Just that it was _very_ important… wasn’t it?

Steve went to apologise, to take it back… and hesitated. He _did_ remember the words Captain America used to sidestep emotional moments like this… but he felt like he was being asked to read a statement written in a foreign language. Like he recognised some of the actual phrases, but had no real idea how they fit together, or how they sounded to his audience, or where a slip of the tongue might change the meaning…

Remembering _roughly_ how Captain America responded… but with literally no idea _why_.

Maybe, if he’d never had the Captain America Myth to complicate things, Steve would have at least _considered_ that being entirely honest with Tony might be more helpful in the long run.

Maybe Steve would’ve let himself recognise and follow this _instinct_ , this absolute certainty that he could trust Tony with anything – including his heart.

Maybe he’d have allowed that _new_ idea to influence his thinking… that alien but somehow more comfortable assumption that it was okay to let Tony take care of him, at the moment _._ That, actually, _that_ was what he was supposed to do.

…But that _other_ instinct was just so ingrained – and it was there for other people. Steve couldn’t remember it well enough to understand why, but he knew that much.

That it was so important to do right by other people, that he was usually so preoccupied with the question of _how_ to do right… that he’d already decided that Captain America’s instincts were the most moral ones to follow… for some reason…

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that,” he breathed, as Tony finally came to sit beside him on the bed, “I think I… was dreaming, or something, I don’t know… I’m not really awake…”

And Tony smiled at him again, letting his hand rest gently on Steve’s leg.

_He knows I’m lying._

…And, weird though it was – Steve quite liked that Tony knew he was lying. It came as a relief, a _reassurance_ , to see how deeply Tony understood him. Even now.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Tony whispered warmly.

Then he caught Steve’s eye.

And there was such a natural, unaggressive _authority_ in that look, such an overwhelming sense of clarity and security… Steve let himself exhale more deeply, a pleasant feeling of release spreading through his ribs.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked, his palm still stroking affectionately over Steve’s skin.

And Steve felt an immediate and organic instinct to open himself to Tony completely, to let Tony see every part of him, to answer any question Tony put to him honestly and without hesitation.

And an ancient and ingrained impulse to step outside of the situation and think about what was _for the best._ To shoulder any responsibility for the both of them, to consider Tony’s needs and feelings ahead of his own.

Also, Steve didn’t know the words for what he was really feeling.

Also, Steve couldn’t – _physically couldn’t_ – lie to Tony, right now.

“Like I’d really like to know what you’re feeling,” Steve admitted eventually.

And Tony smiled again.

And nodded.

And then took a moment to think.

Steve felt a stab of hurt as soon as he saw that Tony wasn’t going to speak immediately – a cold ache that grew so quickly, in the few seconds of silence.

He’d wanted Tony to be _sure_.

He’d wanted Tony to say that he was still feeling everything he felt last night – _Steve_ was.

He wanted to ask if Tony loved him, if Tony was backing away from him, _why-_

_You can’t say any of that!_

_…why?_

_Because…You’re Captain America…_

_So, what do I do instead?_

_…_

“Well, for a start, I’m feeling so completely different to how I’ve ever felt before,” Tony started, at last. “So different from how I ever thought I _could_ feel… In a place I always assumed it would just be impossible for me to be…”

…And suddenly Steve _remembered_ why it was that he couldn’t be selfish, right now.

An impulse he mistook for ‘remembering what Captain America would do’… That was a mistake Steve had been making for years now. Crediting a brand image with all the better qualities in himself, all the choices it cost him so much to make, all the things he’d known since long before he took the serum.

Actually, it was just _Steve_ , the skinny kid from Brooklyn, who was thinking back to that night in Tony’s workshop. The pain he felt for Tony, the anger he felt on Tony’s behalf, the deep understanding of just how many issues were layered on top of each other. It was Steve’s own voice that spoke up to admonish him,

_You know what a big deal all of this is. You should probably have thought about that before anything happened, but as it is – you can’t be needy and self-centred about this, of all things._

Which Steve inaccurately summarised as, _you’re supposed to be Captain America, you don’t think of yourself when others are in need._

… Which came right up against a much more natural instinct, _you’re supposed to be in his arms right now – you know you are._

_You’re supposed to tell him everything, you’re supposed to be entirely open – at least, right now. _

…And then he realised Tony had paused to look at him.

_He knows I’m thinking this._

_He knows I’m thinking something._

_…That should probably panic me, seeing as I have no idea what to say._

“You know you _can_ tell me anything, don’t you?” Tony told him, his voice soft and serious all at once. “You know that I… _see you_ , that I’d never think less of you for anything, that I’ll always be on _your_ side, no matter what – do you know that?”

And Steve nodded instantly – because he _did_ know that.

In fact, hearing Tony say it made him realise just how big a thing that was, what it meant. It was the first moment that Steve had consciously acknowledged the strange feeling that had been growing in him for weeks… That specific security that Steve felt around Tony, and how it had bled into everything else, and… that Steve _believed_ it.

In that moment, Steve finally _felt_ like he really didn’t have to be Captain America – he literally felt the shift in his body, as he put down the last of that burden.

…And, in that same moment, Steve realised the difference between Captain America’s objections, and his own.

He realised that not showing ‘weakness’, and not corrupting Tony’s faith in him as a perfect hero, and not losing Tony’s support, had all been such a big part of him not speaking up… but not the only part.

That there was still the Steve Rogers part of him, the boy who felt everyone’s suffering as his own, who couldn’t bare _any_ injustice… Who understood the pain Tony was in, the confusion he must surely feel, the pressures he must be under. The person who had listened to Tony’s story that night and _sworn_ he would make it better, or die trying.

 _That_ was the part of him that still resisted begging Tony to come back to bed – the part of him that instinctively put himself in Tony’s position, and saw how this might complicate a problem that Steve only wanted to help solve.

Steve braced himself for an internal conflict, expecting a panic to overwhelm him at any minute.

Knowing that he could and _should_ be totally honest with Tony, that it was unnecessary – _wrong_ – for him to pretend to be Captain America right now-

Knowing that he, Steve Rogers, never wanted to discount anyone’s pain, that _Steve_ didn’t want to say the wrong thing right now-

Should he tell Tony just how much he wanted this, could he reasonably put that extra pressure on him?

Should he lie, and tell Tony whatever it was that would make this decision easier for him?

…This was exactly the sort of thing that frightened Steve, usually. These time pressured, no-win situations, where there was no way of working out the right answer-

And then it hit him.

This wasn’t a moment of internal conflict, but a moment of genuine enlightenment.

He didn’t have to be Captain America right now – he _shouldn’t_ be Captain America right now.

And _Steve_ didn’t know what to do for the best, at this exact moment. He didn’t know what to say.

…So, what if he didn’t say _anything_ , just yet?

Which, okay, with _hindsight_ , might not turn out to be the best course of action.

Maybe Steve _would_ eventually wish he’d said something… like people do.

But the more important point was that this was the first time in _so_ long that Steve wasn’t already judging himself according to hindsight.

The first time he’d _ever_ considered that… maybe it wasn’t his _job_ to manage every conversation effectively. Maybe he didn’t have to say the right thing every time… maybe that didn’t always mean he’d done _wrong_. Maybe he could just… Do neither, for a moment. Not be responsible for the situation. Not discount his own feelings entirely, simply because he didn’t want to let them rule him completely.

… Regardless of whether staying silent was the ‘right thing to do’, recognising that he was allowed to do it was a very important moment.

And the fact that Tony simply nodded, and accepted it, and carried on.

“The thing is… I used to have all these rules. Why I couldn’t even let someone new into my house. Why I could _never_ tell anyone I was a vampire. Why biting someone was just an evil monstrous thing to do, and Obie should be ashamed of himself – and now, suddenly, everything just looks so different.”

Steve let out a relieved breath, far less subtly than he would have liked – still not relaxing entirely.

“And, it’s like suddenly there’s no context,” Tony continued, with a gentle smile. “Like, okay, everything I thought I knew was wrong… so what do I know now?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, before he could stop himself – _hoping_ that he related. Hoping that Tony was describing the same things that he was feeling… That Tony was confused but still certain, in the way he was.

“And, honestly, all I care about is whether I’m going to end up hurting you,” Tony breathed, his hand caressing more firmly into Steve’s skin.

“Tony, I-” Steve blurted, and then cut himself short. Tony raised his eyebrows at him, _no, go on_. But Steve just blushed and shook his head.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t know what he wanted. For all the confusion he felt at the moment, Steve was completely and entirely sure that he wanted to be Tony’s – that he wanted it _like that_. That it was _all_ he wanted – all he’d ever wanted. That he already understood it, and felt it, and needed it.

…He just didn’t know how to say that, without risking something he wanted even more.

How to judge whether he’d hurt Tony, add to his burdens, jeopardise any chance of helping him with these issues, if he let his emotions get the better of him.

He still didn’t know what to say.

So, in the end Steve just looked at him, _no, you go on._

“It’s just… neither of us can know if I’m hurting you,” Tony sighed. “I can’t tell you what I’m doing to you – I don’t even know. I don’t know if this is going to… change you, or… You can’t know what you’re risking, and I can’t know what I’m asking you to risk…”

 _There’s no greater risk than losing this. There’s nothing I wouldn’t risk to keep it,_ Steve thought. And said nothing.

“And… more than that, I don’t know if you really _mean_ it when you say you want this-”

“I do,” Steve told him, firmly – because he was sure of that one, at least. But Tony just sort of… _winced_ , and dropped his shoulders…

“But… Neither of us know what… _effect_ , any of this has. And I know that… It has an _effect_. I mean – what if I’ve – _hypnotised_ you into wanting this? What if… I don’t know, what if you’re being influenced now, and neither of us know it?”

And Steve _tried_ to ignore the little flicker of defensiveness. He tried to talk himself out of being hurt, like an aunt trying to contain an argument at a family wedding,

_Come on now, you know he’s actually being perfectly sensible._

_There isn’t anything personal in that statement – he’s talking about the situation, not you_

_You should be glad he’s being this thoughtful – that’s the man you fell in love with, isn’t it?_

_He’s not saying no_ .

But Steve couldn’t help _feeling_ just a little bit hurt, in spite of all of that.

Just a little bit defensive at having his motives questioned – especially when they were motives he was so sure about.

“So, how do I prove that to you then?” Steve demanded, his tone coming over sharper than he’d intended. And then he saw Tony flinch, and instantly wished he could take it back.

“It’s not that, Steve-”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean-”

“No, but, Steve,” Tony interrupted more firmly. Steve stilled, and watched a thought flicker behind Tony’s eyes, before Tony set his shoulders and looked at him.

“I love you.”

Steve felt all the tension leave his body, the air evaporating in his lungs, every thought in his head stopping dead and disappearing.

He didn’t even care that he’d completely forgotten the conversation he was in the middle of, he didn’t stop to note that it had been something very important. For a few seconds, that was all there was in the world-

Tony _loved_ him.

“And I already know that I am _always_ going to love you, and only you, and that I’m never going to stop looking after you, for as long as I…” And then Tony caught himself, and seemed to deflate just slightly, letting go of what looked like a slow breath before he carried on, “See, I was going to say ‘for as long as I live’. Because that’s what it feels like, what it would be if… But it’s not going to be like that, because I’m going to live for a thousand years… which is just… One of the things that makes it all so different, me saying that-”

“Woah, sorry,” Steve cut in, speaking on auto pilot. Aware that Tony had moved onto an entirely separate and very serious topic – while Steve was still very much stuck on ‘I love you.’

And then he saw that Tony was looking at him, expectantly.

“I love you,” Steve whispered back. And he saw Tony hear it. He saw the way Tony’s eyes lit up, the smile that warmed through his entire body – Steve saw how much it meant, he felt it, and he _wanted_ it, and – “I was in love with you a long time before I even knew you were a vampire, before there was any ‘effect’. I know that. It was just love, it _is_ just love, and I would’ve risked anything to keep it, even then-”

“But you don’t know _what_ you’re risking,” Tony said again.

“I didn’t know what I was risking when I took the serum, either,” Steve shot back – not sure where any of this was coming from now. Trying _so_ hard to contain that adrenaline, but- “The reason I took it anyway is because I knew what I was risking if I turned it down. Or, no, not what I was risking – what would happen. I knew that if I said no then I _would_ get sent back home again, and lose all chance of the thing I thought I wanted most at the time, and that’s how I made that choice. And I know that there couldn’t _possibly_ be an effect of this worse than… not having it...”

Belatedly, it occurred to Steve what Tony was _about_ to say. That Steve had stopped Tony from sharing a deep and sensitive fear, with something that sounded like a debate rebuttal… He remembered the trauma and personal history that underpinned this for Tony – that Steve had been in the middle of reminding himself about that very fact, when his emotions kicked in-

He made a valiant attempt to swallow them again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered – and Tony shook his head.

“Please don’t say that. You never have to be sorry for being honest with me,”

“I just… I can only tell you that I know what I want,” Steve clarified, carefully. “And… I can’t ever know if I’m being influenced by something I don’t know about. I can just tell you how I feel, that I’m sure.”

“And I’m sure, too,” Tony sighed.

“So why-”

“Because _feeling_ sure isn’t… Because when I say, ‘I’m sure’, what I mean is, ‘I know I want to’. I really want to. And… I can’t hurt you, or not bother to think about whether I’m hurting you, just because I really want to…”

Steve felt a frisson of heat under his skin. A growing frustration at this circular argument, the build up of everything he wasn’t letting himself express.

_Please, Tony._

“So, you don’t want to do this anymore?” Steve asked, his voice small.

“I’m not saying that,” Tony corrected, with a speed and certainty that was somewhat reassuring. “I’m just saying that… I have to know more about what we’re getting ourselves into, before…”

“Okay, so, fine,” Steve answered, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “So, how do we know that?”

And Tony smiled at him with so much affection…

Steve wanted to kiss him

He was _supposed_ to be kissing him-

“Well, for a start, I think I have to… actually think about what happened to me. What Obie told me…”

Steve felt a cold sensation press down over his skin, as his fears for Tony once again stole the spotlight from his thoughts about himself.

“Oh, Tony, I didn’t mean for-”

“No, Steve,” Tony cut him off again. “It’s… a good thing. Well, it’s a necessary thing. To be honest, it’s probably something I should’ve faced up to anyway. And, actually, it’s ridiculous that I know so little about myself, and… The point is, I want to be with you more than I want to avoid this topic. Like, a lot more. So.”

God, Steve didn’t know how to feel.

Overjoyed that Tony loved him.

Devastated that Tony might still walk away from this.

Touched that Tony would do this for him – desperate to avoid it for him.

Panicked over what he could be losing.

Overwhelmed with admiration at Tony’s kindness and courage.

Steve didn’t know whether he wanted to bury himself against Tony’s chest, and cry, and beg Tony not to leave him-

Or whether he wanted to pull Tony into his arms, and tell him it was okay, that however Tony wanted to deal with this, Steve would support him-

“Can I help?” He whispered, eventually. And Tony sighed another smile, and brought his hand up to the side of Steve’s face, tracing his thumb gently over Steve’s jaw as he answered.

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I know I have to start with thinking it all through, and coming up with a list of questions… When I know what it is I’m trying to work out, maybe… But right now I think it means trying to remember a bunch of creepy monologues from Obie, and trying to hunt down more of those creepy medieval vampire diaries,” and then, before Steve could intervene with another anguished clarification, Tony pointedly added, “which is _really_ a very small challenge to overcome, when you think why I’m doing it.”

“You don’t have to do it on your own.”

“Part of it I have to do on my own,” Tony corrected, gently. “Part of it is literally that… I can’t twist what I am, what any of this means, _because_ it’s you… I don’t know if I’m saying that right. But… If either of us are ever really going to _know_ that this whole thing isn’t just… wrong, and evil and dangerous – that means I have to _really_ ask myself if it is. I have to let that be an option, so I can know it really wasn’t the answer. And that means I have to face the possibility that it might be all of those things, even when it’s someone as special and different as you are. I can’t… do something hurtful to _you_ , just because you make everything look so much better than it is… I don’t know, does any of this make sense?”

And Steve really wished it didn’t.

When, _still_ , part of him just wanted to grab Tony by the shoulders and yell at him, _but you know it’s not like that! _

Another part of Steve was so impressed by Tony’s control in this situation, by how considerate and careful he was being – when part of Steve loved Tony so much, for every part of this.

…Objectively speaking, Tony was right.

“So…What happens now?” Steve asked, miserably, resisting a growing temptation to wrap his arms around himself.

“Now… I spend a day thinking very hard about stuff, and reading whatever I can get my hands on,” Tony sighed. “And I try to find a starting point, I guess…. And I’ll call you. Whatever is going on, I promise, I’ll call you.”

Steve swallowed a hard, salty mouthful of fluid, and nodded.

And then a single force simply overtook his head.

It was entirely unlike any of the emotions that had crashed through him in the last few minutes – and it certainly wasn’t a _thought_. Far more visceral and primal than any of the instincts that had tried to influence him.

There was no chance for Captain America _or_ Steve Rogers to intercept this one – those identities existed in a separate reality from wherever this had come from.

 _This_ flared up as a physical reaction and an emotional instinct and as the only cerebral priority, all at once. This came direct from somewhere deep inside him.

“What will you drink?” Steve asked, his voice suddenly clear and direct.

And Tony blinked.

And faltered just slightly.

And frowned.

And Steve felt a jealous panic consume him like a wildfire-

“Bagged blood,” Tony replied, sounding oddly distant – like he was thinking about something else. “I mean, until I know… I can’t bite you. So. It’ll just have to be-”

“But…Mine?” Steve interrupted sharply, his body so tense by now that it was sitting up of it’s own accord.

He’d never felt anything like this.

Yeah, the idea of Tony sleeping with anyone else was hurtful and uncomfortable – but _nothing_ like the violent desperation that consumed him at the very thought of Tony drinking someone else’s blood.

_Oh God, he wouldn’t-_

“Of course yours,” Tony promised. And then seemed to drift into talking to himself as he added “…I’d never drink anyone’s blood but yours… I couldn’t…”

And, later, Steve would wish he’d been able to put more thought into that. What Tony was really saying, what it would _mean_ for both of them –

But, Jesus, the thought of Tony drinking anyone else’s blood had turned Steve’s entire body to ice. Instantly.

In the moment, all Steve _could_ feel was an overwhelming relief.

“You draw it yourself, though?” Tony asked more directly, snapping Steve out of himself.

“Of course,” Steve answered, easily… and then realised it actually _didn’t_ go without saying that, “I’d _never_ let anyone else take my blood. Ever.”

_…That should go without saying though… shouldn’t it?_

_…Well, you felt the need to ask, so-_

Steve forcibly silenced his head, irritated with his own thoughts by now.

All of a sudden, everything seemed anxious and tenuous and confusing again….

“I should… go…” Steve accepted sadly, having to drop his eyes before he could get the words out. He felt Tony exhale heavily.

“Well – first we’ll have to deal with the fact that I’ve literally shredded all of your clothes,” he commented, mindlessly-

And, heaven help him, Steve actually laughed.

…Well, it was probably better than bursting into tears.


	19. Chapter 19

Tony was lying on the floor of his workshop, gazing up through the ceiling and into his own thoughts, when it occurred to him that it had been exactly a week since he’d bitten Steve.

_So, it’s an anniversary of sorts…_

Tony frowned, and pushed the idea away. There were far too many thoughts competing for his attention at the moment, without letting himself get carried away with silly notions like that.

_…And, no, that’s not a reason to call Steve again, either._

Tony almost smiled at himself then, an amused sort of embarrassment at catching himself out. Recognising only too well that he’d spent the whole week fighting a permanent temptation to call Steve – and that, whatever he tried to tell himself in the moment, it was never actually because he had an important question, or a notable breakthrough, or… whatever excuses he’d invented.

Usually it was simply because something had made him think of Steve, or he’d wondered what Steve would say about something, or… just because Tony missed the sound of his voice. And, although it was tempting to attribute that to some vampire instinct or supernatural draw… Mostly, Tony just _missed_ him. He missed the way he felt when Steve was there, he missed all the little human details of Steve.

The emptiness Tony felt was just the gap that _Steve_ left in his life…

Which was worth noting, Tony supposed.

…But not something he should indulge in.

Tony had had this conversation with himself enough times to know. As much as he wanted to – even if he _could_ come up with a reasonable sounding excuse…

It wasn’t the point of what he was trying to do here-

It wasn’t _fair_.

To tell Steve that he needed space to think about things, and then keep calling him with trivial observations…

Tony had given into temptation on that front three times now; once, because he’d promised to call Steve, then to tell Steve that he’d managed to track down some original texts… and Tony couldn’t even remember what his third excuse had been. Only that, the whole time they were talking, he could hear that devastating hope and unbearable anxiety in Steve’s voice, that question Steve _wasn’t_ asking-

_So…have you decided…?_

And Tony hated to think of Steve just waiting there while he ‘decided’. Or, really, it was that he hated the idea of _Steve_ thinking of it that way. It just seemed so… demeaning to Steve, or something. So utterly inaccurate and entirely unbalanced. It really wasn’t as though Steve wanted this more than Tony did, or that Steve liked him more than he liked Steve. And, of course, Tony would’ve loved to talk to Steve about all of these decisions. Go through all his recent musings, speak his frustrations out loud, ask for Steve’s advice…

But Tony knew why he wasn’t doing that just yet. There wasn’t much of this he was sure about, but he understood exactly which part of this he had to do on his own… And why.

Thinking about it, maybe it was because it came from that same instinct to protect Steve above all else. The way Tony understood, so naturally accepted, that the objective best outcome was the one in which Steve suffered the least. That there was no compromising on that one, no way to accept some pain or sacrifice on Steve’s behalf in pursuit of a greater victory… what greater victory?

And that made certain parts of this clear.

Tony knew he had to work out who and _what_ he was, before he could offer himself to Steve.

He had to work out whether any part of this was _coercive,_ before he could take Steve’s opinion into consideration. Before it would be fair to ask Steve what he wanted.

And Tony had to be sure that there was nothing _wrong_ with this before he let Steve in, and everything just seemed right again. Because he knew that Steve had an extraordinary – for all Tony knew, _supernatural_ – power to make everything seem like it was going to be okay… and Tony couldn’t allow himself to indulge in that before he’d made absolutely certain that it was true-

His stomach gave a loud, low growl, and Tony glanced down to shoot it a withering look.

He’d hoped to get further through this process before he had to drink again. He knew that the moment he tasted Steve’s blood, his perception would shift – and he had no faith whatsoever that he’d resist the temptation to call Steve _then_ …

But, on the other hand, it _had_ been a week since Tony drank, and maybe it was getting to the stage where he couldn’t concentrate through his hunger any more than he’d be able to work through that high. And it wasn’t as though he could avoid the issue for much longer-

And, obviously, he _couldn’t_ drink anyone else’s blood.

Tony’s stomach twisted again – but that one had nothing to do with hunger.

That particular issue especially panicked Tony. It complicated and frustrated so many other things, sometimes threatened to unravel him completely. Those moments when he really thought he might be getting somewhere, on just one small element of it – an article in a medical journal that sparked an idea, a passage in some ancient text that helped shape how he was feeling, a train of thought that threatened to actually lead somewhere – and then suddenly he’d just hear it,

_If you stop this thing now, you’ll literally starve to death._

And then, of course, whatever little detail he’d been thinking about would suddenly seem completely unimportant, and he’d feel ridiculous for trying to be sensible about anything, when clearly they were so far beyond it now-

He had already made a physical commitment, in some way tied Steve to it, before he’d thought about all this-

When this was _already_ a creepy, co-dependent relationship, in which true consent was impossible, from _either_ of them-

And then of Tony would wonder whether he should just give it up and start from there. Accept what he’d done, and the realities of it, as a foundational part of his theorising…

But he couldn’t make any of this _right_ , just because he’d die otherwise. Even stakes like that didn’t turn a genuinely immoral act into something excusable. He couldn’t let his personal predicament influence the scientific research, or colour his reading of the evidence-

_…But, you will literally starve to death-_

Tony sighed impatiently and pushed himself up off of the floor. There was an unpleasant roll of dizziness, and the beginnings of a stress headache behind his eyes.

He didn’t even bother wondering if he could force himself to drink other blood. He’d learned that the very idea of it made him feel nauseous.

It was a physical thing, as much as anything else. A change in the basic processes of his body… If he let himself, Tony would be able to remember the last vial of blood that wasn’t Steve’s. That sour taste, like a natural warning against poison. He couldn’t swallow it _then_ , even before he knew what Steve’s blood tasted like…

And, as well as the physical thing… well, he just _couldn’t_. It made him feel dirty and guilty just to think of it. He couldn’t do it to Steve.

…So, really, that narrowed it all down to keep biting Steve, continue taking bagged blood from Steve… or die.

_Maybe I should focus on this weird blood-fidelity thing – try and work out what that is, first… if it really is a physical thing, or if it could possibly all be in my head-_

His stomach growled again, and this time it hurt. Tony let go of a defeated sigh. _Fine_.

“JARVIS, what time is it?” He groaned.

“12:51, sir,” JARVIS replied cheerfully.

“And what time did Pepper say she’d be here?”

“At around 1pm, sir – assuming that her meeting with director Fury runs to schedule.”

Tony let his shoulders slump. Okay. _Fine._ He would wait until Pepper had been and gone, and then he would _have_ to drink… and just try _really_ hard not to call Steve.

“JARVIS…” he began – and then hesitated. He knew he couldn’t _order_ JARVIS not to listen to him in the future. If he later demanded that JARVIS lift any block on Steve’s number, or unlock the doors, or disregard _anything_ he said right now… come to think of it, Tony wasn’t entirely sure _what_ JARVIS was programmed to do in that situation… But it suddenly seemed unfair to inflict such an existential crisis on his AI. So… “If, later on, I decide it would be a good idea to call Steve, or invite him over… Could you just take a moment to remind me that I still don’t know if I’m risking his life? Just – _tell_ me that if I call Steve I might kill him, okay?”

“…Understood,” JARVIS answered, kindly.

“Thank you,” Tony muttered, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t even sure _that_ would stop him doing something stupid… if he slipped back into that strangely focused state of euphoria and suddenly _felt_ like he understood how everything worked… But if that wouldn’t stop him calling Steve, nothing would. It was all he could do.

_…Because you’ll literally starve to death-_

He huffed irritably and refocused his attention on his work desk, looking for something, _anything_ , to occupy his thoughts for those last few minutes before Pepper arrived.

It wasn’t quite the comfort it usually was.

To begin with, it seemed truly alien to see his work desk covered with physical papers and books. Tony had been running a paperless office since the late nineties, and this particular brand of clutter made the safe haven of his workshop seem unfamiliar and… _off_. And that was before he let himself think about what any of those books actually said.

Most of them were still just confusing and vaguely unsettling, at this stage. The practical issues of trying to translate texts from medieval languages, when the ‘correct’ translation would probably sound ludicrous anyway. The frustration of finding pages that referenced the earth’s rotation around the sun, or the curative power of leeches – and made Tony feel completely ridiculous for actually studying them. The way that creepy words or graphic descriptions could come at him seemingly from nowhere, turning an otherwise dry text into something frightening or embarrassing or eerie.

But…

Even though this might still come under the heading of ‘vaguely unsettling’…

There _were_ a few passages, buried in amongst the laughable science and sinister folklore, that actually… helped him to think. Gave him alternative theories to look into.

…Okay, sometimes, made him feel better.

There were, in among the papers he flinched from and the books he was avoiding, a few pages Tony kept going back to. Passages he’d read over and over, phrases that he’d thought back to again and again.

A single entry in the diary of a vampire in 17th Century France, in which she described the process of becoming a vampire as ‘very much like the process of becoming a woman’. A few lines that Tony knew by heart, by now-

_“So much of it seems undignified and needlessly corporal, and, on first hearing, somewhat unfair… and yet, so obviously the natural order of things. To wonder why one should be born obliged to a Consort seems both as reasonable and as absurd as asking why motherhood is dependent on a husband. In many ways this process, accepting that my body will change in such a way that anticipates the existence of another, is familiar to me.”_

Which… had made Tony think, to say the least. He’d spent about three hours just staring at a wall after he read that passage, asking himself all sorts of questions that would never have occurred to him, considering perspectives he wouldn’t otherwise have thought of… So, in a way, that diary was useful – even if it later transpired that the author believed her menstrual cycle was dictated by the moon.

Or when he’d worked out that a ‘dzhadazhiya’ might not actually be a word for a vampire hunter, or even a vampire fetishist… That it might simply mean someone with an interest in the lives or mythology of vampires, someone who sought them out purely to observe them and understand them and record what they found.

The really enlightening part of that discovery was realising just how much he might have pinned on a basic misinterpretation – a mistranslation he’d been only too ready to accept, because it was what he’d been expecting in the first place. His initial search of the term had brought up ‘vampire hunter’ and… well, obviously. Made too much sense to question. And when he’d seen that word, again and again, it had seemed only too plausible that so many people would fear and hate him… He’d kept finding proof of his own assumption… because he’d been looking for it. Because he’d not been critical of it, or bothered to look for other explanations, or considered all the information he _didn’t_ have.

And then those few pages. That relatively short account by a man who clearly wasn’t a vampire hunter – who clearly used the word to mean vampire historian instead.

The realisation that… ‘historian’ made so much more sense than ‘hunter’, even in the passages he’d _already_ read. Recognising that he’d accepted clunky, contradictory phrases as the right translation, that he’d strained his original idea to make it fit…

Seeing that he _didn’t_ have pages and pages of historical figures who wanted him dead. That he might actually have a pile of books written by people who thought he was interesting – people who wouldn’t have been frightened to approach him, people who would have been happy to live among people like him for no other reason than to see what it was like. Finding the same pile of evidence had somehow shifted before his very eyes, this thing he’d been looking right at, and yet…

Or the records kept by a society of vampires in the Highlands of Scotland – who had a specific word for people like Obie.

_Gràineileachd_

The direct translation of which seemed to be ‘an abomination’ – which Tony had to admit, was a nice touch. There was something quite satisfying, vindicating even, to think there was once a whole group of people who would have seen Obie as nothing more than that…

But, really, it didn’t matter what the word literally meant – whether it even had a secondary meaning. It was simply knowing that there was once a society who would’ve seen Obie as a monster amongst their _own_ kind. A society that separated Obie’s actions from the rest of the vampire myth, who considered it a _crime_ … A society that would’ve taught people the specific wrongs of what Obie did – a people who would have put him to death for it.

Or…

Tony’s gaze fell on the bundle of yellowed papers, tied up with a length of ever-fraying parcel string.

Tony had untied and retied that string maybe ten times already… by now, he had his favourites among the pages they contained. And he knew it was silly to keep going back to those same lines over and over, when he had other things to read – when, of all the things he’d read, those letters probably had the least useful details…

But he liked them.

Twelve letters written from a Vampire named Dimitri to someone named Demi – who Tony assumed was also a vampire, but couldn’t tell for sure… Dimitri’s letters had contained very little detail about Demi, or indeed Dimitri. They didn’t give any clue as to where or when they were being written, they made no mention of recent events or the current political climate or… well, anything at all, except Ottilie.

As far as Tony could tell from just this part of the story, Dimitri had begun his correspondence with Demi just after he and Ottilie were bonded… a word that Tony had to admit was getting less cringeworthy each time he read it. A word that seemed so much less ominous or creepy or ridiculous, when it was being used by someone so clearly overwhelmed by love… Someone who was so damn _proud_ to use it.

And, obviously, the letters contained no objective information about what it meant to be bonded – it didn’t neatly outline the criteria or describe any sort of ceremony or explain how that arrangement was met between them, or anything _functionally_ useful like that…

But it was so clear to Tony what it _meant_ , when he read those letters…

And, honestly… Partly, it was just that he liked to read them. Apparently, at some point in the last few weeks, he’d become the sort of person who liked nothing more than to curl up with an _especially_ saccharine love story and feel all weepy about it… Some of his favourite passages were simply Dimitri extoling his consort’s virtues, and outlining all his plans to please her, and delighting in the overwhelming joy of being bonded to her – just because they were lovely.

…There was every possibility that Steve would eventually turn him into a Danielle Steel fan, and that should probably be considered a worrying symptom of this whole thing in and of itself.

But there was also this feeling that Dimitri had done the exact opposite thing to Tony… That Dimitri had always been taught, or always assumed, that being bonded to someone was a beautiful, precious, perfectly natural thing… and, as such, found endless evidence to back him up. Everything he loved about Ottilie was another piece of evidence that he had found his perfect partner, and that in turn could only mean he was living his _best_ life. Dimitri never once doubted that he was exactly as he was meant to be, that every event in his life had happened exactly as it should – he had the ultimate, unquestioned proof right there in his arms…

_“I watched her making breakfast this morning and realised that she rolls her knife between her fingers in between each task, and that of course she does that because her mind is too alive for her to be still, even for a moment… At first, it simply seemed endearing. Attractive, for reasons I’m not sure I could explain. But slowly it occurred to me, that I would never have been able to ask for such a quality. That, had God himself appeared before me, and offered to make me a Consort to my exact specifications – perhaps I would have thought to ask for a lively mind, or a free spirit. I can no longer remember if I knew these were the only qualities worth having, before. But I am quite sure that, no matter how long I was given to lay my designs, I would never have asked for a woman who rolled her knife between her fingers whilst making breakfast. I haven’t sufficient imagination or attention to detail to come up with such perfect little touches, I would never have known how much such a thing would make my heart swell. So, you understand, Lottie convinces me of the existence of God, more so than if I met God myself. Because a being who can make for me whatever creature I desire is no wiser than I am. But the being that created HER can only be God.”_

Tony actually let go of a wistful little sigh, as his thoughts drifted away from Dimitri and Ottilie and onto thoughts of Steve, as they always did-

“Miss Potts is at the front door, sir,” JARVIS informed him, and Tony snapped back to attention.

“Oh, good. Yeah, let her in,” he waved, turning away from the cluttered desk and towards the elevator. His stomach clenched again, and Tony actually hissed at it under his breath, _in a minute, Jesus._

“Good Afternoon,” Pepper greeted him brightly as she stepped into the workshop, already pulling another book from her shoulder bag. Tony briefly managed a little smile… Until she held the book out to him, and he caught sight of the title.

_Vampyre Childe oft mōna_

“I hope this one wasn’t too much effort to track down…” He mumbled, as his mind provided and then rebelled against the translation, _Vampire children of the moon_.

“Came up when I was tracking those Russian volumes,” she explained, her tone still just a little bit too animated. “So, no, not a huge additional effort – overpriced.”

“Well, that’s something I suppose,” he joked weakly, reaching behind him to dump it on the desk with the others. And then, because it seemed rude to kick her out without _some_ additional small talk, he asked, “you know anything about it?”

“Pretty sure the text is Middle English. At a glance, it looks like a reference book of some description…”

Tony felt a more genuine smile warm through, as Pepper reeled off all the little details she’d gathered about this text. Of course, he’d not told her everything that was going on – so far, neither she nor Rhodey even knew that he’d been drinking Steve’s blood, much less that Tony had actually bitten him. He’d not really given either of them an explanation, when he’d asked for their help in researching this, after all this time-

And God bless them both, they clearly didn’t care.

They had both been so willing to help him, so enthusiastic about their task… So careful not to push him. Careful _not_ to ask questions – to never once make Tony question himself or feel self-conscious about doing this.

_… you know, for twenty years I’ve been thinking of them as ‘people who stood by me, even though I’m a vampire’_

_…Maybe ‘family’ was always a better word for it._

_…Maybe, this whole time I’ve been thinking I couldn’t have a family-_

“…So, my best guess is that it _isn’t_ related to those diaries we found in London, but I can’t say for sure,” she finished on an upward note.

“Thank you,” Tony told her sincerely, still smiling.

“No problem,” she smiled back. “Oh, and I got a call back from Sotheby’s by the way – apparently they don’t have a translation for the Baxter Book, so they can’t say one way or the other. But, honestly, I don’t think it’s going to get a lot of interest, so I think it might be worth picking it up anyway?”

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Tony answered…

And then a sudden, cold dread swelled up in Tony’s stomach, up into his chest, flooding his entire body.

His surroundings seemed to fade into the background, his previous thoughts just dissolving into this white noise of panic.

“Tony? Tony, what’s wrong?” Pepper asked, urgently.

But Tony didn’t know what was wrong.

He felt as though he’d just remembered something terrible… but he didn’t know what it was.

Like he’d just realised something awful… except he hadn’t actually realised it.

Like he was so sure something dreadful was happening…

But he didn’t know why.

“Tony?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he muttered, barely aware he was talking to her.

…Steve.

_Oh, God, if something has happened to him-_

“Tony-” Pepper tried again, but he simply waved her quiet as he pulled his phone out his pocket and hit _redial_ -

“Sir, I was asked to remind you that if you call Captain Rogers, you might kill him-”

“Yes, thank you JARVIS, I’m reminded,” Tony snapped, a hot terror coiling tighter in his chest with every ring…

No answer.

Steve had never not answered him.

Steve _wouldn’t_ not answer him-

“Why would calling Steve Rogers _kill him_?” Pepper exclaimed – and Tony outright ignored her. He was too busy searching for Bucky’s number. He didn’t even know if she carried on yelling at him while he listened to that dial tone…

No answer.

_Shit, shit, shit_

“JARVIS, can you bring up the Avengers – _Steve’s,_ schedule for today, please?” Tony demanded, his voice high and tight.

“Tony-”

“Hang on, one minute Pepper, _please_ ,” he implored, not even looking at her – already scanning Steve’s appointment calendar for the afternoon. “External Comms Meeting?” He hissed, incredulous, when he saw that there was no location, or contact, or… _anything_ useful listed under that heading. He turned to glare at Pepper, and found she was giving the entry a disapproving look.

_Sloppy record keeping_

_Someone will be receiving a memo about this._

But when she looked back at Tony her eyes had softened, a hint of confusion in her tone as she pointed out,

“Well, it could be any number of things. I mean, yeah, they should’ve put more details down – but you know they don’t always…” her voice trailed off, defeated, when she saw that he’d turned his attention back to his phone.

She crossed her arms, and let go of a patient breath, obviously assuming that Tony was ringing Steve again.

“Hello, is that Natasha Romanov?” He asked instead, his voice clear and authoritative.

Pepper jumped to immediate, shocked attention, her mouth literally falling open as she stared at him.

“And who is this?” Natasha enquired politely.

“I’m calling from the Stark Industries Security Board, Clearance Code 13354, Reporting directly to Miss Potts, colour of the day is Indigo,” he rattled off impatiently, “We need to know the location of Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes – the internal system just has them down as attending an ‘external comms meeting’”

“Uh, one moment…” She mused. Tony could hear her frowning as she searched for the details. “Oh, okay… So, I can’t find any more information listed on the internal system, but Captain Rogers has a note on his desk planner, Meeting Talleroy Communications, 12:30 ‘til 2:30.”

“And Sergeant Barnes?”

“Same meeting,” Nat confirmed. “They were travelling together – why, is there a situation that we should be aware of?”

_Yes, there is a situation – and I would very much like to be aware of what it is._

“We don’t know yet,” Tony answered honestly.

“Are they in danger?”

And Tony _really_ wanted to say yes…

But, the trouble was, he genuinely didn’t know if they _were_ in danger.

He knew something was _wrong_.

He was absolutely certain that this instinct needed to be pursued…

But he couldn’t tell if it felt like Steve was hurt, or lost, or nervous, or in some sort of trouble. He didn’t know whether this meant that Steve had just had a heart attack, or if he was just _really_ uncomfortable about a presentation he was making, or…

Tony would’ve had no qualms whatsoever about sending the Avengers on the strength of an instinct alone – if his instincts had been clear that _that_ was the sort of danger Steve was in…

But if this was his gut trying to tell him that Steve just really needed a hug, having the Avengers crash his meeting probably wouldn’t help…

“We have no reason to think that,” Tony sighed – and then, out of nowhere, thought to add, “but it might be an idea to see who you can have standing by, while I investigate this – you’ll get a call back within the hour.”

“Okay-” Nat began in a questioning tone – but Tony had already hung up on her.

He needed to _think_.

“Um, okay…” he muttered to himself, aware that he had to be a little bit polite about getting rid of Pepper, but having literally _no_ headroom left over to think about it-

And then he looked at her, and found that she was still staring at him – absolutely shellshocked.

“What?” He asked, on autopilot.

“You just called Natasha Romanov,” she said, or possibly asked, her voice completely dazed.

“Uh huh,” he nodded impatiently.

“…Even though I’m standing right here,” she added, her expression hardening into a frown.

And Tony was just completely thrown by that response. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“I’m sorry, have I offended you?” he guessed. And she blinked, bewildered, and then shook her head, _no, Tony, you aren’t getting this-_

“You have refused to communicate with the outside world, in _any way_ , for twenty years,” she reminded him. “You once called me to tell me to call the fire department for you when your office was on fire-”

“That was nearly fifteen years ago,” he huffed. “And JARVIS is programmed to handle that now…” But he trailed off as he realised what she was getting at.

…Oh.

_Oh… yeah… I see what I’ve done there…_

“…is that the first time you’ve made a phone call like that for yourself?” She asked, more softly.

And Tony noted that… yes, it was.

That he had just overcome a massive personal barrier, and done something he’d been terrified of for nearly two decades…

And he didn’t care.

If he had any thought on the issue at all, it was only that it was actually quite inconvenient-

That Pepper was _never_ going to let something like that drop…

“Okay, Pep, thank you very much for bringing the book, and for _everything_ you’ve done,” he began in a pointedly peppy, _I’m going to have to ask you to leave_ tone of voice.

“Oh no you don’t,” she told him straight. “You’re not getting rid of me unless you tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, I just… To be honest, I need to drink, and I’d really rather not do it when you’re here,” he tried… and watched her consider that carefully…

“…Not sure I believe you,” she concluded, squinting at him. “Tell me why you’re so worried about Captain Rogers.”

“I’m… not,” he sighed. “I just… You know, he’s leader of the Avengers, and it’s a little worrying when his location is unknown, and he’s uncontactable…”

_…I should’ve just sent the Avengers._

_…I’ll call them back-_

“Okay, but his location _isn’t_ unknown. Someone has just forgotten to put the details in the planner – which wouldn’t be the first time. And he isn’t _uncontactable_ – he just didn’t answer his phone. Which is probably because he’s in a meeting…” Pepper explained. And then her frown deepened again. “And why would calling Steve Rogers _kill him_?”

“It wouldn’t, obviously,” Tony answered, irritably. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have called him. It was just… a stupid thing I said while I was working. It was a joke, that’s all,” and he threw his arms out helplessly, _are we done here?_

She just looked at him for another endless moment.

“…I’m making you a cup of tea,” she decided – and Tony’s whole body weakened in sulky resistance, like a petulant teenager.

_Oh, not the cup of tea…_

Back when Pepper first started saying that, it was meant as a genuine deflection technique – something she used to suggest whenever Tony asked her to leave him in a particularly manic or depressed state. An excuse to spend a few extra minutes with him, so that she could be sure he’d calmed down and had moved past the temptation to do something reckless before she left him on his own. Of course, Tony worked out what she was doing years ago, and since then it had developed into a simple shorthand – _I am not leaving you while you’re like this, not until I’m sure this mood has passed._

A quick calculation told him that it would take longer to talk her out of it than to just drink a cup of tea.

“Fine,” he sighed, gesturing impatiently to the elevator.

*

Steve was slouched in the corner of one of the couches, his head resting heavily on his fist, his eyes lost somewhere in the middle distance. Not the professional and dignified demeanour he usually tried to maintain, while he was out on company business-

But then, Steve didn’t really know where the hell he was. By now, he was too physically, thoroughly miserable to care about things like his surroundings and his appearance and his job. It didn’t _matter_ what this meeting was about or who it was with or whether it went well…

Steve _just_ wanted to see Tony again.

That was all he could think about, the only thing he wanted, the only thing that _felt_ important – whatever Steve tried to tell himself. And he had tried. He’d given himself the stern talking to, and the motivational pep talk. He’d reminded himself of all the oaths he had taken and all the people who relied on him. He’d tried to warn himself about all the bad things that might happen if he didn’t concentrate, _and then you’ll be sorry._ None of it had worked. None of it had even seemed relevant, like they were all words from an alternate reality…

And then Steve had just stopped bothering with them.

He’d given up on trying not to be miserable and thrown himself into it.

It had been bad enough at the beginning of the week. Steve had spent those first few days after he left Tony’s house feeling anxious and rejected and guilty, bouncing from one bad thought to the next-

Wishing he’d not been so needy and demanding when Tony tried to explain, that he’d been more understanding of what Tony was trying to say

Wishing he’d been _more_ forceful, more vocal – that he’d fought harder for this thing, that he’d made a stronger case for it

Wondering if he _was_ being short-sighted or naive or immature. Thinking through every one of Tony’s objections with an increasing sense of dread, a terrible fear that there really was a reason that he might not be able to have this…

All of which had dissolved into a wordless, emotional mush by about Wednesday… and had now sharpened again, into something more basic and primal-

Steve _knew_ he was meant to be with Tony.

He _knew_ that being with Tony meant being bitten by him. That they couldn’t possibly be together any other way.

That the desire would still be there – that it would hurt them both too much to try and ignore it.

That Tony would still have to drink – and it would certainly hurt _Steve_ far too much, to think of Tony drinking from anyone else. There was no way they could build a relationship if it relied on Steve accepting that…

And…

And Steve just _knew_ that it was right.

That is was good, and healthy, and… _right_.

The same way he was sure that people from even the most isolated and restrictive communities probably figured sex out for themselves – because, even without anyone explaining it, people just felt and understood and _knew_ this desire to express their love that way.

_…what if every one of them had refused to follow that instinct, ‘just in case’ it was life threatening, eh Tony?_

_…what if people had refused to follow even the most basic, innate of instincts, just because they didn’t understand every detail of them?_

_The human race would have died out…_

Of course, Steve didn’t much like to think of himself pressuring someone into _sex_ that way… If he pictured himself in some isolated village in the Middle Ages, trying to convince a nervous virgin that their fears were ridiculous…

_…So, what, you’d just let someone you love be afraid of sex – and miss out on all the parts of that they might want, or enjoy – forever?_

Steve, having completely forgotten that there was anyone else there, let go of a frustrated sigh.

“Hm?” Bucky glanced up at him, dragging him part way out of his own head.

“Hm? Oh… I just… Wonder how long they’re going to keep us waiting,” he shrugged, barely listening to his own answer. Actually, he had no idea how long they had been waiting. It just sounded like a reasonable response.

“Hm,” Bucky nodded. And then added, casually, “You doing anything when we’re done here?”

“No,” Steve replied mindlessly.

“…You feel like dropping by to see Tony?”

Steve snapped upright; his eyes immediately focused on Bucky’s.

“What?” Bucky asked, innocently.

“…We can’t just ‘drop by’ any time we like,” Steve replied, somewhat coldly. But Bucky just frowned at him.

“Why not?”

“You remember, when he first agreed to see you, and he was _quite clear_ that he wasn’t changing his lifestyle over it?” Steve reminded him – and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“Okay. You know what. If something has happened between you and Tony, you _are_ just going to have to tell me,” he announced, in a firmer tone. “Because otherwise, I’m just going to go with what _I_ know – which is that Tony thinks of us both as friends, and that he’d be quite happy to see either of us, without it having anything to do with his ‘lifestyle’.”

“Bucky-”

“Seriously Steve,” And he leant forward, to emphasise his point. “You don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want. But if you don’t give me a solid reason not to, I _am_ going to go visit Tony when we’re done here – and you can be damn sure I’ll be asking _him_ what the hell is up with you, all of a sudden.”

Steve just slumped into a puddle, defeated.

_He fucking will, you know he will_.

“It’s… complicated,” he sighed. “And it’s… personal.”

“Personal?” Bucky repeated, clearly unconvinced.

“…It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Steve stared at him for a second, briefly wondering if he could front this one out…

Oh, who was he kidding?

“I’m madly and hopelessly in love with a _vampire_ ,” he surrendered, dramatically.

“And… what?” Bucky frowned at him. “You don’t think he loves you back?”

And Steve felt that strange, bittersweet feeling curl in his gut again. That happy-sadness, like when you think of a treasured memory at a funeral.

_Tony said he loved me…_

“It’s not that,” Steve muttered, trying not to blush.

“So, what is it then?”

“It’s… lots of things,” Steve huffed. “It’s… the fact that I’ll age and die in front of him, and he’s going to live a thousand years. For a start.”

Steve hated that one.

The one thing Tony had said that he couldn’t immediately answer.

The one part of this where he _knew_ he was asking Tony to accept a compromise or an uncertain future, rather than taking it on himself.

“What, like Agent Nowak?” Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. Steve shot him a bitter look.

“What? No. Why would you – that’s horrible, no,” he shook his head, his face screwed up like he’d bitten into something sour.

Jan Nowak was a SHIELD agent who had met and immediately fallen for the girl of his dreams at a family party – when she had already been diagnosed with terminal cancer. And he had dated her, and proposed to her, and married her, and buried her, all within the space of two years.

“Why would you bring that up?” Steve continued, more angrily.

“You thought that was a nice story,” Bucky reminded him.

“No, I didn’t,” Steve corrected him sharply. “How is that a nice story? I said it was nice that they got _some_ time together-”

“Right,” Bucky interrupted, pointedly – and Steve just exhaled, impatiently.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I know that Agent Nowak wouldn’t’ve have walked away from the love of his life, just because he couldn’t keep her, or because it was going to be painful later – and you know how I know that?” And he leant forward even further. “Because he _didn’t_. And no one thinks it would have been a happier ending if he had-”

“Yeah, well, tell it to Tony,” Steve snapped – and then immediately regretted it.

“…Is that the problem, then?” Bucky asked, more softly.

“There are lots of problems…” Steve sighed, sinking back into the couch. It was a horrible couch. Too firm and covered in cheap fabric and an ugly orangey-brown colour. Clearly they didn’t give much thought to the little touches at… Steve literally had to look for something branded before he could remember where he was… Talleroy Communications.

“Look, Steve,” Bucky began on a sharp intake of breath. “I’m not saying that I understand everything that’s going on with you – but, you know what, I don’t understand a lot of what happens, these days. I don’t understand what the hell Bruce is. I don’t understand most of Asguardian culture. I don’t really understand how I’m still alive, seventy years after falling one hundred feet from a moving train. And, honestly, I don’t really understand how any of us make a relationship work – I don’t really understand how anyone makes a relationship work. I just kind of hope that they do. Like I still don’t understand how this works,” he gestured to his metal arm, “I just hope that it _does._ And… honestly, I think you’re over thinking this. You spent all this time worrying that your life wouldn’t fit a normal relationship, and how you found someone who does make sense in your life and you worry it isn’t normal… maybe stop borrowing trouble and look at what you’ve actually got?”

Steve managed a smile at him, for that.

“…I don’t know what I’ve actually got, though.”

“Yeah, you do,” Bucky reassured him. “You just-”

And then he stopped dead, his body tensing upright in time with Steve’s.

He’d heard it too, then.

That strange, dull _clunk_ in the walls all around them…

They kept their eyes locked on one another as they both strained to listen…

Silence.

…Too silent.

Steve nodded at Bucky before he rose to his feet, tiptoeing oh-so-quietly over to the main door as Bucky positioned himself to cover him.

And then Steve nudged the door open, _very_ softly-

And then everything just went black.


	20. Chapter 20

By the time they reached the kitchen, Tony’s ears were actually ringing.

He was vaguely aware of a constant background noise, which he didn’t even recognise as Pepper talking to him while she made the tea. It was like the world was closing in on him with every passing second, his ribs tightening around his lungs, his vision clouding at the edges, his muscles tensing inward in a desperate urge to-

_Jesus, to what?_

He gripped the countertop, his fingers close to trembling, and told himself to _think_. Which, purely out of habit, probably started as an attempt to overcome this reaction. The overwhelming physicality of it, the fact that he didn’t have an actual trigger to rationalise… This was the sort of thing a person should try to talk themselves _out_ of, usually…

_Maybe it’s just that I’m hungry_

_Maybe it’s just that I’ve not seen him in so long_

_Maybe I am just losing my mind…_

It simply wouldn’t stick.

Tony _knew_ this feeling was genuine.

Within seconds – without him even realising it – his attempt to get a hold of himself had become a desperate attempt to think about Steve.

_Where was his meeting?_

_Who was he meeting with?_

_What was it supposed to be about?_

_What could be worrying Steve, or threatening him, or hurting him-_

“Sugar?” Pepper asked, pointedly, and at volume. Tony looked up at her, finding it was difficult to focus.

“Hm?”

“Sugar, or honey?” She gestured to two cups on the countertop.

“Oh, honey is fine,” Tony answered on autopilot. Like he was hitting snooze on an alarm. Pepper sighed, and went back to the preparing the tea, and Tony instantly fell back into his thoughts…

His hand reached out and took the flyer down from the fridge, just following an instinct to be as close to Steve as possible, to grab at whatever part of him was within reach. Tony ran a fingertip over the familiar sweeps and curves of Steve’s handwriting as he thought about him…

He could picture him so easily, every little detail of that beautiful face…

He could _see_ Steve so clearly, the person he was, the layers of him in every expression and gesture and turn of phrase…

Oh, everything seemed so clear _now_.

Which was of no comfort at all, obviously, because _now_ might be too late-

_You should know where Steve is going today, and who he’s meeting with – and how he’s feeling about it._

_You should have just committed to this thing you knew was right, rather than putting him through all this – leaving him to get into this situation_

_If you’d not been so fucking scared and ridiculous and over the top, with all the ludicrous, totally made up ‘what if’s’… If you’d just looked at what was…_

All those myths and unreliable personal accounts and medieval anatomy had been no use whatsoever in _explaining_ what Tony was… but they all suddenly seemed to fit into what Tony already _knew_ he was.

He saw what each of those authors had been trying to say through the prism of their own society.

He recognised the genuine reactions that people had tried to rationalise with bad science.

He suddenly _understood_ this relationship, this _bond_ – and that, really, he’d always _understood_ it… That he’d wasted all this time trying to prove to himself what he already knew.

That he’d tried to make it all fit into a world that it obviously wasn’t from, trying to find human equivalents for something that simply _wasn’t_ human. That he’d been judging this thing according to criteria and priorities that just didn’t apply…

That he’d set an impossible standard of certainty. That he’d set out to find an answer to everything, even though human beings still didn’t understand themselves or the world they were from – and still they accepted that they were supposed to be human.

That if Obie hadn’t done this to him in such an _abominable_ way, if he hadn’t _then_ gone on to poison Tony’s mind against himself… If Tony hadn’t started from the perspective that he must be a monster, that he had to find some undeniable proof that he _wasn’t_ …

If he’d had _any_ idea what to expect, or hope for, from a love like this…

Then he would obviously have seen it.

He couldn’t unsee it now.

That he had met Steve, and been attracted to Steve, and liked Steve, and then fallen for Steve… just like people do. That a lot of this really wasn’t so different for vampires, at least at the start. That it really hadn’t been an instant blood bond, or an ancient supernatural draw to Steve… just a spark. A spark that grew into a friendship, and then a bond of trust, and then the vulnerable, desperation of genuine, human love…

And _then_ there was something more.

Because there _was_ something more, for vampires. An additional level of closeness and commitment and trust. Another layer of attraction and desire, on top of all the others… something that affected his mind and his body, his thoughts and his emotions, just like every other part of it.

If Tony had met Steve in another life, if they had both been human, he would’ve been happy for an initial interest to develop into a physical draw, and then an emotional yearning. It would’ve seemed perfectly normal that he’d want to commit more of himself to Steve the more he grew to like him. No one would have questioned why they took risks for each other, or made compromises for each other, if it turned out to be true love. Tony would’ve accepted the effect Steve had on his body, known it was real, _assumed_ it was natural even though it might be messy or confusing or intersect with societal expectations sometimes…

And if Tony had met Steve in another life, one where he’d been _allowed_ to be a vampire… Maybe he’d have just been delighted to find someone he wanted to go that step further with. Elated that Steve felt it too. Focused on making Steve happy, and keeping him safe, and just _being with him_ – like he was supposed to.

Like he was always supposed to.

Instead of which-

_Jesus Christ, I’m such a fucking idiot-_

“ _Tony,_ ” Pepper forcibly pulled him out of his head, sounding anxious now. “Okay, Tony, please, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I’m really sorry, but I can do this,” Tony told her, efficient and determined.

“You can’t do what-”

“I can’t sit here and have tea with you. I’m sorry. I haven’t got time to explain this, but I _know_ Steve is in trouble. And I haven’t got time to convince you that I’m okay right now, so you’re just going to have to trust me,” Tony explained in a rush, trying to keep his voice level. “But I’ve got to call the Avengers back, and then I’ve got to work on finding him, and – you can either stay here and watch me do it, or you can go, and I’ll call you later,” he concluded, putting the flyer down on the counter top so that he could fish his phone out of his pocket again.

“Okay, Tony,” Pepper tried again more softly, stepping over to him so that she could put a gentle hand to his arm, _hang on a minute, before you make that call_ ,

But Tony was wound so tight now, flooded with such an urgent adrenaline, that it made him jump. He flinched away from her, his arm knocking into the counter with a strength that he usually kept carefully concealed.

He saw Peppers eyes widen, concerned rather than frightened, her hand still firm against his shoulder.

Tony took a little breath and dropped his arm, telling himself to get a grip.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, as he tried to centre himself again. “But, look, Pepper, I _know_ this sounds crazy, and – _shit_ ,” he cut himself short with an irritated hiss when he saw that he’d hit the worktop hard enough to knock over one of the decorative jars, that a puddle of sparkling liquid was slowly growing on the surface beneath it-

That his flyer was getting wet.

He reached out to snatch it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, instinctively careful not to tear it-

Which was a ridiculous reaction, he knew it was.

He had far more important things to focus on, better uses of every second of his time – quite enough to be upset and worried about at the moment, without getting distracted by this silly little keepsake.

…But this was the _only_ part of Steve that Tony had been able to keep. Something he picked up when he wanted to think about Steve, _something_ he could hold in his hands.

Tony _would_ be upset if he’d just ruined it.

He was sort of upset that he’d broken one of the jars, simply because Steve had liked them. Because they were one of the things Steve had noticed, the night of their date… Part of one of the very few pleasant memories that Tony had.

All of which was emotional, and irrational, and really not helpful right now-

Maybe Pepper had a point.

Maybe he _did_ have to take a second to calm himself down, before he did anything else.

“Right, sorry. You’re right. I need to take a minute,” Tony muttered, speaking more slowly now. He took a deep breath.

And then he glanced back to the flyer still dangling from his fingertips. Checking it was okay, or instinctively looking to Steve’s handwriting as a means to comfort himself, or just needing to look away from Pepper for a moment-

It was an entirely mindless thing.

And then he saw the rusty hue at the corner of the page. He watched as it spread across the paper, the colour getting darker in front of his very eyes…

His scientific curiosity sparked into life, setting off that familiar chain of thoughts – _what is this reaction, why is this reaction, what after this reaction?_

Only to realise that he _recognised_ that reaction.

He knew exactly which mix of elements led to that particular effect…

_Shit._

“It’s going to be okay, Tony,” Pepper was assuring him – although, now it sounded like her voice was coming from miles away. “Whatever is going on, we can work it out.”

But Tony had already worked it out.

It had all fallen into place in one horrible, vivid instant – even before he read the title on the other side of the flyer, now visible through the damp paper.

Talleroy Communications.

*

Steve woke up searching for Tony.

His mind slipped back into consciousness before he could open his eyes, his head still thick and heavy with sleep, his whole body still weighed down with exhaustion… his arms trying to reach out for something, his fingers curling against his palms.

_Tony_.

And the cold sadness of realising Tony wouldn’t be there… that everything was wrong and anxious still, that Tony wasn’t his… even though he was…

And the bitter realisation that Steve woke up this way every morning, the ominous awareness that soon he’d remember all the things that made him miserable and irritable all the time

…And then the somewhat shaper realisation that, no, this wasn’t _just_ that.

That something _else_ was wrong and anxious, this time.

That it wasn’t only that he couldn’t find Tony – he couldn’t move his arms at all.

It took considerable effort for Steve to force his eyes open. At first, there was just a blinding light and a piercing headache. Instinctively he went to throw his arm over his face, and remembered again that he couldn’t move… recognised the specific resistance of being _bound_ … with rope…

He was tied to a chair.

As his vision slowly cleared, he began to recognise individual elements of his surroundings. Exposed pipework and strip lighting… no windows… concrete walls…

_Basement…_

_Why am I tied to a chair in a basement?_

And then, before anything else came back to him, Steve suddenly remembered-

_Bucky_

Whatever Steve had been doing, wherever he was before he ended up here, Bucky had been with him-

“Buck?” He slurred, finding that his jaw was heavier than he’d been expecting. He heard a familiar voice huff softly beside him, and turned his head to see Bucky slumped on a wooden chair, his wrists bound behind him, his torso and legs tied with additional lengths of rope.

Steve glanced down. Same.

“Bucky,” he tried again, more urgently, relieved when he saw Bucky blink… and then frown in sleepy confusion.

_Disoriented, but unharmed._

_Same._

And, with that, Steve’s mind began to tally details with more speed, more awareness. He began to remember the moments leading up to his sudden incapacitation, the questions he should be asking himself, the connections between them…

They’d been set up.

There was no way anyone had managed this without careful planning, full access to the building they were in, prior knowledge they’d be there… Talleroy Communications was a front. Their ‘Newark office’ had been set up for this purpose, he and Bucky had been lured there-

This could only be bad.

Steve realised there was no way he’d be able to work out exactly who ‘Talleroy Communications’ were, or what they were planning, from the clues in this dingy basement – but it didn’t matter. It was obvious that they weren’t allies, that their purposes weren’t legitimate… that, whatever the specifics, he and Bucky were better off _out_ of that basement…

At the very least, that it would be better if he weren’t tied up.

…Forcing himself to think carefully, Steve decided that maybe it would be better to loosen these ropes rather than break himself free of them. That, if they were being watched, it might be better not to draw attention or attract retaliation before he got his bearings-

But it was definitely better not to be tied up.

So, Steve began to flex his wrists against the restraints, pushing his arms out as subtly as he could…

…and then less subtly

…and then with rapidly increasing desperation, as he realised that he _couldn’t_ loosen these ties-

That he recognised _why_.

That this was entirely different to the resistance of being drugged, or exhausted. That he wasn’t too numb, or too disoriented, or too drained to move-

He wasn’t strong enough.

This specific resistance, this _weakness_ , was a more fundamental thing. It was a _familiar_ thing. Suddenly, he remembered with nauseous clarity what it felt like to be 5”4 and 95 pounds. He remembered a body that wasn’t capable of that force, didn’t _know_ that force, that had nowhere to pull it from-

_Jesus, what have they done?_

He looked down again, more panicked now, almost expecting to have shrunk in the last few seconds. Surprised that he could still take a deep breath – like he couldn’t imagine this specific body without the asthma.

He looked to Bucky again, and saw a similar confused dread rise up in his eyes-

“Please don’t be alarmed, Captain Rogers.”

Steve’s head snapped upright. Still lightheaded and confused, it took him a second or two to pick the shape of a man out of the shadows at the back of the room-

He’d probably been there the whole time.

And, now, Steve realised that something about his voice, and his shape, was familiar… Jimmie, Jesse, Jamie…something like that – the ‘marketing guy’ from Talleroy Communications.

Oh, this was all becoming horribly obvious.

“You are both currently under the influence of a perfectly harmless and entirely temporary drug, designed to keep you somewhat sedated-”

“This isn’t a drug,” Steve blurted, angrily, finding his voice still wasn’t quite his own.

“…Not one that you would recognise, no,” the man – Steve was almost sure it was ‘Jesse’ – carried on, calmly. “Actually, it’s far more advanced, and far _safer_ , than most of the sedatives you know. The reason it feels strange to you is that, unlike most of those drugs, this has been designed to reduce the impact on your mental facilities. Unlike other sedatives, which just have a blanket effect, this one will reduce your physical capabilities without making you equally drowsy, uncoordinated or confused.”

Steve felt an inch of relief as he registered how much sense that made. That it did explain this strange feeling of purely physical weakness-

That it was a far more comforting explanation than anything he’d been reaching for.

“And I can assure you that it has no long-term effects,” Jesse went on, in the same casual tone of voice.

“So, you’re a drug company, a chemical weapons company, what?” Steve demanded. His eyes were adjusting to the brightness of the lights above his head, able to pick out more of Jesse’s features – he saw the patronising smile when he replied,

“We work in a number of areas – but we’re not interested in world domination, or mass murder, or any of the plots you usually work against.”

“Well it’s clearly not on the up and up, is it?” Bucky spat, sarcastically. Jesse sighed.

“The world is a complicated place. There are political obstacles, financial obstacles, _personal_ obstacles, to even the most mundane or beneficial of projects,” and he even looked quite apologetic when he added, “I know everyone here would have preferred not to have to do things this way. We believe in our work, and if we could’ve gotten the information we needed any other way, we would have. But the fact that we’ve had to resort to… these extremes, doesn’t mean that our goals are sinister.”

“Bullshit,” Steve replied darkly. “You’re just trying to replicate the serum, like a thousand other people. Just trying to make yourself rich and powerful, without any thought to the consequences, just like them.”

Jesse’s professional façade flickered only briefly, but still, Steve knew he was right.

“Our overall goals needn’t concern you,” Jesse answered. “The facts are as follows. Neither of you are able to rely on your famous strength or agility at the moment – _and_ , in the interest of avoiding any pointless planning on your part, you should know that we’re able to disable the arm remotely, so there is no point relying on that either.”

Steve _felt_ Bucky straighten up in confusion, without even looking at him. But Steve resolved not to look at him, not to draw attention to anything Bucky was thinking or give away anything that was in his own head. He just kept his eyes locked on Jesse, as Jesse continued to monologue,

“We’ve gone to great lengths to layer a cover story, and to conceal our location – put bluntly, your friends will not realise that you are missing, much less find you, before we have what we need. However, you needn’t be frightened of us taking what we need. We have to run a few basic, non-evasive, entirely painless tests. We need to take a few simple samples-”

And, immediately, Steve’s blood ran cold, his entire being seized with sharp, icy indignation-

_Samples_

_He means blood._

_He’s not taking my blood._

_I’ll kill him-_

_Tony will kill him-_

“-for non-world-threatening, _scientific_ reasons,” Jesse continued, oblivious. “And, seeing as you have no real choice but to comply, and there’s no threat to yourselves or to global security if you comply, I would strongly suggest you comply. Because,” and he dared to take a step closer, as though to emphasise his point, “no one here really wants to use the more painful, more dangerous methods at our disposal. The _other_ drugs we’ve successfully engineered. And no one here wants to harm, or God forbid _kill_ , two of the Avengers – so, please, don’t put us in that position.”

And it was only that Steve still too appalled, too outraged, that this man had even _suggested_ taking his blood, that he couldn’t find an answer. He was still too breathlessly, blindingly enraged by the time Jesse had turned and left the room.

For a few seconds, there was just the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.

And then he heard the soft whir of Bucky flexing his metal arm.

Steve looked up at him, watching Bucky’s face as a careful consideration melted into a measure of relief… Steve knew Bucky well enough to read his expression. He could almost hear what he was thinking.

_Well, the arm seems to be working fine to me._

And then Bucky looked right at him, his intent clear in his eyes

_I’m pretty sure the arm still works. What do you want to do?_

And Steve’s immediate impulse was to simply say, _we break out of here right now and tear that guys throat out for daring to suggest that someone else would take my blood-_

But he managed to pull some actual sense from somewhere.

He had to _think_.

…Okay. Apparently the arm still felt strong to Bucky. Did that mean they could rely on it?

_We’re able to disable the arm remotely_

Did that mean they had to act quickly, before anyone could take this one advantage from them? Or did that mean that it wasn’t really an advantage? That they couldn’t really rely on it, because when it came time to use it, someone else could simply overpower it…

But Steve realised quite quickly that at least they didn’t have to worry about _that_.

…That _Tony_ had fixed Bucky’s arm.

No matter what Jesse _thought_ he knew, whatever bug Talleroy Communications were hoping to utilise – _Tony Stark_ had personally worked on Bucky’s arm. Tony had assured them both that everything had been remedied. There was simply no way that anyone in this company – anyone anywhere, ever – had outsmarted _him_.

…So, they could rely on one strong arm between the two of them.

Well, that was something.

But, probably not enough to mount an assault on. Not unless they _had_ to-

_Unless someone tries to take my blood-_

-Okay, then, they would _have_ to.

But, until then, Steve had to accept that they were outgunned. That they didn’t know enough about ‘Talleroy Communications’ capabilities, or their plans. That it was probably better to wait as long as possible for reinforcements to arrive

He looked back to Bucky, resigned.

_We wait as long as we can._

And he saw the tiniest nod from Bucky, _okay._

*

“Tony, okay, I need you to take a deep breath, and just give me one minute to explain what’s going on in your head,” Pepper elucidated. “Just one minute. Tell me why you think Steve is in trouble.”

And, presumedly, she meant it as a way of bringing Tony back to his senses. An attempt to make Tony _think_ about what he was saying, rationalise his emotional responses – accept that he was being ridiculous, probably.

Perhaps, a few minutes earlier, Tony would’ve taken it that way. Maybe he would’ve made an attempt to hear her out, see this from her point of view, ask himself if he was being as manic and unreasonable as he must seem to her.

But, as it was, Pepper said it just as everything came together.

The innovator and engineer in Tony, the part of him that was able to see the right patterns and ask the right questions and recognise the right reactions – the part of him that had been there all his life, quick and confident enough to believe that he understood what he was looking at.

The human part of Tony, the part of him that loved the human part of Steve – the part of him that had catalogued every scrap of information Steve had ever shared with him, and held onto them, and indulged in them. The part of him that had watched every one of Steve’s press conferences … The part of him that knew all about Talleroy Communications, now that he had reason to think back.

And the vampire part of Tony. The part of him that he wasn’t afraid of or confused by anymore – because it was the part of him that knew Steve was in trouble. The part of him that was strong enough and powerful enough to get Steve back-

That was all that being a vampire meant to Tony, now.

And Tony didn’t even know which part had taken control of his faculties, which part had recognised the seriousness of the situation and which part was able to respond to it-

Maybe it was all of them-

Maybe this was just _him_.

But, whatever it was, Tony was suddenly capable of dealing with this-

He _had_ to be.

“Okay, Steve is, at the moment, in a meeting with ‘Talleroy Communications’ – the same company that gave him this flyer, a few months ago,” Tony explained, with a clarity and authority that would’ve been beyond him a minute earlier. “They’ve been networking with the Avengers for months, pretending to be a ‘communications’ firm – but they aren’t. They’re a chemical weapons manufacturer, or they’re dealing in black market pharmaceuticals – whatever it is they’re doing, they’ve been working with some seriously dangerous chemicals, in enough quantities to leave traces on their paperwork,” and he gestured with the flyer again, and waited until Peppers patient compassion had melted into general confusion, and then sharped into a more focused concern.

“ _These,”_ Tony pointed at the sparkling jars still standing on the countertop, “were a project I worked on nearly five years ago, an attempt to detect and neutralise airborne poisons, do you remember?”

“Er… vaguely?” Pepper frowned, glancing between them and Tony’s face. “It didn’t work?”

“No,” Tony corrected, “it _half_ worked. The compounds worked to detect poisons – I just figured out that the same compound couldn’t be used to neutralise them, and since we already _have_ ways of detecting those poisons, what was the point? _But_ , this compound does work to _detect_ them,” and he gestured to the flyer again. “It tells me that this flyer, produced by Talleroy Communications, is covered in traces of seriously scary, illegal poisons. That it was probably produced or stored in a facility that makes incredibly dangerous, illegal compounds. That it was produced by people _pretending_ to be a communications company, who have set up a meeting with Steve Rogers, _right now_ , which has not been listed on the central system… and which is _not_ happening at their main offices, _shit_ …”

Because it was all still unfolding in his mind, even as he spoke.

That he knew where Talleroy Communications _listed_ office was. He’d looked it up once, on one of the many nights he’d been too consumed by thoughts of Steve to sleep. One of the many nights he’d spent googling everything and anything Steve had ever mentioned, just because it was a way to feel close to him…

_Steve isn’t at that office, and that means I don’t know where he is…_

“How do you know it isn’t that office?” Pepper asked, engaged and alert now.

“Because their listed office is a few blocks from the Tower, and Steve would’ve walked…” Tony mused out loud, the details coming together faster than he could explain them.

Remembering the night Steve had spent curled up against his chest, soft and warm and happy, mindlessly talking through all the little elements of his life…

The fact Steve liked to walk to meetings, on the rare occasions that it was possible. That he liked the time _alone,_ to catalogue his thoughts and get into the right mindset… The fact that Bucky had always understood that, had always been happy to meet him there, on those occasions that Steve could walk.

_Nat said Steve and Bucky were travelling together, which means they must be driving, which means they aren’t going to a meeting a couple of blocks away._

“Is that their only listed office?” Pepper asked, “I mean, lots of companies list a small office in Manhattan for the zip code, and do their real business elsewhere-”

“And that’s what Steve would’ve thought, and that’s why he would’ve been happy to another location…” Tony realised aloud. “…Maybe he’s been there before. Maybe that’s when he got this flyer…”

“So, if we check their other listings-”

“There aren’t any,” Tony cut her off – because, of course, it would’ve come up when he was obsessing over Steve. And, anyway- “They’d need a big location, somewhere isolated, to do work like this – wherever this flyer was produced, its not in New York City. Probably not somewhere they’ve admitted to. They must have another base, somewhere we don’t know about, somewhere they have him right now…”

Oh God, Steve was being held by a black-market chemical weapons manufacturer, and Tony had no idea where-

“I have to call the Avengers back,” Tony announced, looking back down to his phone-

“ _Wait_ ,” Pepper told him, putting her hand to his arm again.

Tony just looked at her, incredulous, baffled that she wasn’t able to see the seriousness of this and somewhat frightened that he might have to _fight_ her on something for the first time ever-

“Let me call Natasha,” she finished.

“…What?” Tony blinked.

“I have a working relationship with Natasha, she’s used to me calling with specific directives – the call will be quicker without you having to go through all the security clearances and explaining who you are,” Pepper clarified, her tone as focused and urgent as Tony felt. “And, anyway, you need to drink, right?” She left a pause, for Tony to remember that particular detail. “So, you go and do that, I’ll call Nat and tell her everything we know, and if you need to do more than that – _then_ you can call her back yourself, if you have to.”

Tony didn’t know how to be appropriately overwhelmed by that, at the moment.

For Pepper to have listened to him, and _believed_ him-

For Pepper to have realised that Tony’s sudden willingness to make phone calls for himself, as monumental as it was, _wasn’t_ the key issue right now-

For Pepper to bring every spectacular quality of herself together, to help Tony when he really needed her-

Tony knew that deserved a moment of its own.

He resolved to take a moment to acknowledge it, just as soon as he had one to spare-

Right now, though.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hoping that his sincerity was clear in his voice.

She simply nodded at him, _go_.

And Tony had already turned to head down to the workshop, to where he kept the only blood he _could_ drink-

When he realised.

All those background details that had been cascading though his head this whole time

All those equations he’d been running without even thinking

All those things we didn’t even know he knew-

All the background reading he’d done about Bucky, about the history of Hydra and their work… and their various bases…

All the things Tony knew already – about how chemical manufacturing worked, and how you’d make poisons like this, and the trail such work would leave and how you’d cover it

Tony was barely aware that his mind was working as efficiently as it ever had, that he was as focused and as capable as he’d ever been in his life.

He just knew that he knew exactly the _sort_ of site that such work would require,

That Hydra _had_ used such a site, before the were forced out of existence by SHIELD.

That he knew Steve wasn’t _that_ far away… That he’d know, if Steve had been taken miles and miles away from him…

…That there was _one_ site that had all the necessary facilities, that was both isolated and official enough for them to do this work without drawing attention, that was close by enough… that had a connection to Bucky, and the serum, and SHIELD.

Tony _knew_ where Steve was. He just knew.

“Wait,” he announced. And Pepper stopped, her phone in her hand, to look at him.

“Tell Natasha that they’re in Newark,” Tony told her, confidently.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to leave a note to say thank you to everyone who is still reading this, and who has taken the time to leave comments - i feel terrible about how behind I am with answering them! (DH has decided that *right now* would be a good time to sell our house... Why? But WHY?) But, in the mean time, please know how much it means!  
> Really hope you enjoy the update 💖

Tony didn’t bother calling the elevator. He knew he’d get to the workshop quicker than _it_ would – and every second counted.

“JARVIS, bring up every piece of information you can find on Talleroy Communications,” he demanded, as he sprinted over to the cabinet in the far corner of the room. Already running contingencies and arranging priorities and sorting through a thousand lines of thought-

And, honestly, he didn’t _really_ need to gather any more details about Talleroy Communications. He wasn’t second-guessing his instincts anymore. If he’d had had the option of leaving the house right now, he’d have taken it – he’d have gone straight to where he _knew_ Steve was, without another thought.

But he didn’t have the option of leaving right away. He knew he _had_ to drink – even if he’d completely forgotten his hunger. It wasn’t about his own physical needs anymore.

He had to be _strong_ now.

…He had to limit his vulnerability to sunlight.

Which meant Tony would have to wait a few minutes for the effects to take hold and level out. There was just no other way.

So, at the very least, he wasn’t going to waste the time. He was going to double check his hunches, look for more details, plan for as many outcomes as possible.

…And, actually, if he was going to be in the house for another five minutes, he might as well set up an additional contingency-

He slid his phone out of his pocket, as he carried on talking to JARVIS,

“And any details about the former Hydra-SHIELD base on Murray Avenue in Newark. And _any_ similar locations within a hundred miles,”

“Gathering details now, sir,” JARVIS informed him, as the space above his desk lit up with a cascade of holograms. Tony would deal with that in a moment.

_First,_ he had a text to write. A text that he knew was vague and confusing and full of autocorrected errors, even as he was pressing ‘send’. A text that would obviously make _no_ sense… But it would probably get the job done, and that was all Tony cared about. He’d forgotten all about it, even as he was shoving his phone back into his pocket – because he was already thinking ahead to the next thing.

Tony unclasped the medical carry case and pulled one of the bags free, his whole-body thrumming with an electric intensity – a fear unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Of a completely different nature to the anxieties and nervousness and panic his human brain had experienced. This was ‘fight or flight’, already decided for the latter. A surge of pure adrenaline, immediately and entirely focused on this one obvious priority... Like the ‘fear’ that motivates a lion to furiously maul a poacher.

Tony took a deep breath and brought the bag of blood to his lips.

He thought of Steve as he sank his teeth into it, his whole being already tensed in an effort to concentrate. Bracing for the flood of excitement, the overabundance of sensory input. Already warning himself _not_ to let that calm settle in, to fight against the wave of euphoria and comfort that he associated with that taste-

And, God, the taste was as overwhelming at it had ever been.

The physical desperation for it spiked in exactly the way Tony had been expecting, his mouth watering and his stomach clenching as his body swallowed greedily, outside of his control-

The taste of _Steve_ , the sweetness and heat and _power_ of it-

_If they have laid a finger on him-_

_If they’ve so much as upset him-_

Tony slammed the empty bag into the counter beside him, hard enough to dent the surface of it, expelling some of the incredible energy that had just surged through him-

But the floor didn’t roll from underneath him this time.

This wasn’t a sensation that flooded through him, this wasn’t a feeling that he could’ve sunk into, like before.

This time, everything _sharpened_.

Immediately, every muscle in Tony’s body flexed into position, every thought fell into place. He could _see_ differently, his vision so focused and detailed that it made the world look entirely unfamiliar – like seeing through the eyes of a wild animal.

A low growl escaped him, from somewhere deep in his chest.

… So, there _was_ a feral part of him now.

There was a part of this – part of being a vampire – that Tony _couldn’t_ control.

Something beyond his _increased_ abilities, separate to his new level of understanding or clarity or his connection to Steve. As well as something supernatural and special, there _was_ something immediate and primal, something that was no part of the person he used to be… Something that could claim priority from his conscious mind at moments like these, whether he wanted it to or not. 

And it didn’t frighten him.

It might even have been a comfort, somehow.

Because now Tony absolutely _was_ under the influence of a higher power – he _would_ know immediately when it was right to kill, and he had no doubt he’d act on it…

And it was nothing like Obie said it would be.

It was positive proof that Obie had been wrong. The moment Tony discovered the truth behind all of Obie’s self-serving lies and distortions and exaggerations. The moment he could say for sure that his instincts would never find pleasure in killing, never give him an insight into who was ‘ready to die’, never _ever_ lead him to hurt Steve, however strongly they tied Tony to him-

Because now he knew what his instincts actually were. He _knew_ now that it was simply an uncontrollable, feral desire to protect Steve – just that.

And it wasn’t any vampire impulse that had drawn him to Steve – it was being drawn to Steve that had brought out these instincts. Finding someone that special, falling that far in love with him… That’s where the desire for Steve’s blood came from, what the strength he drew from Steve was intended for-

So that he would always know when Steve was hurt, or threatened, or frightened.

So that he would always be able to find Steve, whatever that took.

So that Tony _could_ kill anyone who tried to hurt him.

After all these years of being scared to wonder, Tony now knew exactly what being a vampire meant – even the dark and primal parts of it-

And it was nothing like the bastardised and abusive version of it that Obie apparently felt.

…Obadiah was an _abomination._

Tony wasn’t.

Tony was a _vampire_.

And vampires _did_ have an incredible and supernatural power to protect the people they loved-

And it was a good thing.

Tony left the empty bag in the indentation on the countertop, and moved to cast an eye over the research that JARVIS was still loading for him.

He could read so much faster, all of a sudden.

He could process information in a completely different way.

He could take everything in at a sweep, immediately spot the patterns, retrieve and review theories in his mind even as he was reading ahead to something else.

Not that he’d ever doubted himself, but hey, it was good to know that he was right.

That every objective detail really did back him up on this – that he could honestly say he’d worked this out, as much as felt it.

He _knew_ where Steve was.

Tony waved the holograms closed out of habit, already shifting his weight to sprint out of the workshop again-

But then his eye caught on the little glint of light at the back of the room – reflecting off of the body armour that he’d left sitting on one of the desks.

Tony hadn’t given that project – or anything, really – a single thought since that first night with Steve…

But it had consumed Tony’s thoughts, for a time…

He knew that the gauntlet part of it fit him. He knew that part of it _worked_. That was the part he’d perfected, the bit he’d intended to base the rest of his work on, before his attention had been so completely dragged away…

…Well, it would be some additional protection from the sun, if nothing else.

He snatched it up on the way out of the door, fitting it to his arm as he was walking up the stairs. It had only just settled into place as he strode confidently into the kitchen again.

“Okay, I spoke to Natasha,” Pepper was already telling him, before she’d even looked up. “Apparently she was alerted by your earlier call, and – why do you have a metal arm?”

“Ignore that,” Tony informed her curtly. “ _What_ did Natasha say?”

Pepper blinked at him, very briefly taken aback. Tony knew that it was in her nature to push that question, to demand an answer before she carried on… But apparently something in Tony’s voice had given her pause. Warned her not to fight him.

“…She called the team after you hung up on her,” Pepper continued, somewhat awkwardly. “She’d already tried to contact Captain Rogers by the time I called back, no answer. I passed on the details I had – she said they’d send a response right away.”

“Okay, that’s something,” Tony mused, glancing up at the door.

He had no doubt that his contingency was on its way… but it wasn’t here yet.

And Tony was almost certain that he would have to rely on it, that he already knew how this next conversation was going to pan out-

But he wasn’t about to waste a second. He’d give it a go, in the meantime.

“So, the arm?” Pepper asked again, more cautiously.

“I need to borrow your car,” Tony told her in response.

Peppers mouth literally fell open.

“What?” She asked, dazed.

“I need to borrow your car,” Tony repeated, fixing her with a serious look. Pepper stared at him for a second, and then screwed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“Okay – _no_ ,” she told him, firmly. “I mean – you haven’t driven for twenty years. You’re not thinking straight, you – just, no. You’ll kill yourself. That’s ridiculous.”

Tony sighed, heavily. Of course, he knew that would be her answer. Right now, he could see and process every detail, he could immediately understand the person Pepper was and the relationship they had-

He saw, and understood, and even appreciated, that Pepper would always have his back. That she was only ever thinking of what was best for him…

And he understood what that meant to _her_. He saw Peppers specific take on ‘looking after him’, her individual perspective of right and wrong, sensible and irrational, good and bad.

He _knew_ that Pepper would give him every minute of her time, ride out every spike of his emotions, give him every assistance in a plan she thought was sensible-

But she _wouldn’t_ enable him in something she thought was crazy. She wouldn’t trust him over what she already thought she knew, she would think of it as her place to prevent him hurting himself.

Tony had known all that, before he even asked.

And, if he’d had to, Tony _would_ just have stolen her car.

He knew that he could take her keys by force, that he’d remember how hotwire an engine – and he’d have done it, if there was no other option.

Actually, he’d have done it if he thought it would save him even a minute of time.

But, as it was, Tony was able to evaluate the situation. He knew that trying to talk Pepper into this, or even stealing her car, wasn’t the most efficient plan.

That’s why he sent that text in the first place.

“Okay, you need to calm down and _think_ ,” Pepper was telling him, when JARVIS interrupted,

“Sir, Colonel Rh-”

“Yeah, send him up,” Tony cut in, turning his attention back to the door.

“Okay, why is Rhodey here?” Pepper demanded – and, again, Tony ignored her. He just waited until Rhodey strode into the kitchen, already brandishing his phone in a, _what the hell is this text supposed to mean?_ kind of a way-

And then Rhodey’s step stuttered to a halt, his eyes drawn to the gauntlet. Then he looked up at Tony, a quizzical expression on his face.

“I need to borrow your car, _now_ ,” Tony said, before Rhodey could ask.

Rhodey just froze in shock, for a second.

“You want to what my what?” He asked, stunned.

“I don’t have time to explain. Steve is in trouble. _I_ have to get there. You’ve been bitching at me to leave the house for twenty years, and now I’m going to – and it’ll be _so much easier_ if you just give me your keys,” Tony informed him.

Rhodey blinked at him.

“Uh… okay…” he muttered – already fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“Wait, hang on,” Pepper was trying to intervene.

“ _Nope_ ,” Tony replied cheerfully, stepping forward to snatch the keys from Rhodey’s hand. That seemed to snap Rhodey back to his senses.

“ _Wait_ ,” he demanded, grabbing hold of Tony’s wrist. Tony paused, _just for a second_ , just because it was Rhodey. “I’m coming with you,” Rhodey finished, decisively.

Tony grinned at him.

“Fine, _come on_ ,” he answered, shaking Rhodey’s grip away like it was nothing, already halfway across the room before Pepper could find her voice,

“Wait, you _can’t_ just go along with this,” she was saying, at an increasing volume.

Part way down the stairs by now, Tony still heard Rhodey respond – as though it was the only reasonable interpretation of her objection,

“Well, I can’t let him go _alone_ , now can I?”

*

Neither Steve nor Bucky had said a word since Jesse left the room – what seemed like _hours_ ago, even though Steve knew it couldn’t have been that long.

They knew they were being watched. Steve didn’t even have to _look_ at Bucky, to know that they’d both taken that as a given. Which, obviously, meant that they couldn’t strategize out loud-

But then, he and Bucky had never needed to.

A few loaded glances and a fundamental understanding of one another was enough for them to communicate their basic plan, all of which had taken maybe thirty seconds to decide between them, even without words.

Which had left Steve with a seemingly _endless_ time to think about someone trying to take his blood.

The impotent anger he felt at the very suggestion.

The deep offence he felt at how casually Jesse had mentioned it.

The horrible panic of what would happen if he really _couldn’t_ stop them doing it

If he really was about to be violated in such an awful, personal way, by people who didn’t even _know_ what they were doing to him-

Steve flexed his arms against the ropes again.

He remembered how it felt to have more anger than he had strength to act on it. To be filled with such outraged disgust at some injustice or cruelty, and have no outlet for it. To already know, as he was clenching his fist, that he _couldn’t_ put all his internal pain into one blow, that he literally couldn’t hit someone with as much hatred as he felt for them… that he wasn’t strong enough.

_But God help them, if this drug wears off in time for me to get my hands on any one of them-_

And then the door clicked softly, and swung open, snapping both Steve and Bucky to straight-backed attention. A tall, shaggy-haired silhouette appeared, his features melting into detail as he walked slowly towards them.

There was a sudden spike of alarm, as Steve realised that he _knew_ that face…

“Dr Stape,” Bucky sighed, wearily.

Oh, obviously it was. He looked very different, with a face full of stubble and without the slicked back hair, but this was clearly the doctor who’d worked on Bucky’s arm before Tony did… the ‘leading neurologist’, with his patented wiring…

Steve felt yet another flash of white-hot anger, as he recognised what that meant – and then another, and another, as he remembered more and more little details… as he realised how far back this went, just how _much_ he had to be furious at these people for-

Another conspiracy. _Another_ premeditated, carefully layered betrayal-

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dr Stape nodded softly. _Apologetically_.

Which only added to the rage coursing under Steve’s skin.

“So, what, you pretended to be a doctor and _fucked with his arm_ , just to get access to us? To do what to him? _What_?” Steve barked, so angry he could barely force the words past his throat.

And Dr Stape dropped his shoulders, and shrank away from them slightly, and looked at the floor.

And then, in a small voice, he answered,

“I promise you; it really wasn’t like that. It _isn’t_ like that.”

And Steve could just tell that Dr Stape wasn’t afraid of either of them. This wasn’t the cowed reaction they often got from henchmen – people who were scared to be on the opposite side to the Avengers, frightened to provoke them or desperate to avoid being punished by them-

Dr Stape seemed genuinely _remorseful_.

Steve could see the personal guilt that he carried, the embarrassment in front of himself. He just knew that Dr Stape was more interested in explaining himself than he was in appeasing either of them.

Which, from a purely strategic perspective, was probably a good thing. The longer Dr Stape spent making excuses and explaining his backstory, the longer the others had to find them-

_The longer it will take him to get around to the blood sample._

Steve clenched his jaw. He knew it would only add to this violent, painful fury, if he had to sit here and listen to this…

But he would.

If it stopped someone from taking his blood, he would.

“To begin with, I really am a doctor, and a neurologist,” Dr Stape explained, not quite able to look at either of them. “And I never meant either of you any harm, and I wouldn’t have agreed to cause you any harm. I… I admit, the company perhaps exaggerated my experience _a little_ , to get your attention in the first place – but when I was working on your arm, that’s really what I was doing. And I really was trying my best to fix the bug, and I really am… basically as qualified as I said I was, to do that – and there really wasn’t a nefarious, alternative plan I was working on, or anything…” he trailed off, crossing his arms awkwardly.

“So why did _the company_ want to get our attention in the first place?” Steve hissed, barely able to keep his cool. “Why did they want you working on Bucky’s arm?”

“Mostly, they just wanted me to collect medical details and… samples, if I could. Which I couldn’t, for what they needed,” Stape admitted, talking to the floor again. “If Sergeant Barnes hadn’t been quite so opposed to pain relief, or if he’d not needed such a solid rationale before he agreed to a general anaesthetic-”

“Are you saying this is _his_ fault?” Steve spat, before he could stop himself.

“No! No, of course not,” Stape rushed to clarify, showing Steve his palms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound as though I… I just meant that no one wanted to put you in this position. In _any_ position. That, if I could have drawn more blood and taken some tissue samples without either of you knowing, then I’d have much rather continued my research without upsetting you-”

Steve bit out an irritated breath. He couldn’t believe that Stape thought that was _better_.

“But… You were always so aware of everything I was doing,” he muttered in Bucky’s general direction, “And, if I ever could get you to agree to a general anaesthetic, Captain Rogers was right there the entire time…”

“So you kidnapped us. Obviously,” Bucky shot back, sarcastically. Stapes shoulders slumped even further.

“Look, if it’s worth anything to you – I really am just a doctor,” Stape explained, in a pleading tone. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to make sick people better – and your blood, the things it could do for medical science… I’m just trying my best to help people, and I wouldn’t _hurt_ anyone to do that… but, if it’s just going to inconvenience you both, for a moment…”

Steve huffed an especially bitter laugh.

“ _Helping people_?” He mocked. “It’s got _nothing_ to do with how rich and powerful it would make you, if you could recreate the serum?”

“I’m sure, for some of my employers, it has,” Stape sighed. “I work in medicine; I accept that reality. Every aids researcher and cancer specialist is backed by someone who wants to get rich off of their discoveries. Every drug company is made up of medical men and marketing men. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t pure motives in there. And it doesn’t mean that the discoveries aren’t worth making, just because _some_ people are only interested in what they’re worth.”

And, obviously, there were a thousand things that Steve would’ve liked to say to that. But an idea had just occurred to him, and it took precedence.

“Mostly,” he said, darkly. And then, when Stape raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture, Steve clarified, “you said your employers _mostly_ sent you in to collect samples. So, what else?”

He saw a blush run up Dr Stapes neck.

“There _is_ also a small, entirely harmless, additional component that they asked me to install,” he admitted, at little more than a whisper. And then added a bit more forcefully, “which I can even remove for you, once this procedure is done. And I can assure you, it can’t do you any damage in the meantime.”

For a second, Steve could only stare at him.

It was obvious what the ‘additional component’ was, and what it was for.

That Stape had fucked about with the wiring in Bucky’s arm, purely to install a shut down switch for his employers-

A ‘perfectly harmless’ component that had caused Bucky’s arm to malfunction, and throw Tony clear across his workshop-

Steve was so overwhelmed with objections, so consumed by outrage, that he literally couldn’t think of words for it.

The _only_ comfort was the spiteful joy he felt at knowing something they didn’t know. Being so sure that Tony had already removed that component – and that ‘the company’ had no idea. Thinking of Stape being so very confident that he could remotely disable Bucky’s arm. Imagining the moment that he realised he couldn’t.

 _Good_.

“And, I mean, I don’t mean to sound…” Stape carried on, with a sigh. “But – this company _could_ have taken what they needed far sooner, if they’d been prepared to use force. They’ve put _months’_ worth of work into this cover story, and taken particular care to avoid as much conflict as possible-”

“We’ll be sure to send them a thank you card,” Bucky spat

“I don’t mean that,” Stape groaned. “I just mean that, you know, compassion is a choice of the strong, and all that – I _just_ mean, if they were entirely without feeling, they’d have just had me drug you and take your blood at the first appointment. Surely you can-”

“You’re Hydra.” Bucky cut him off, his voice dark and bitter.

And it was Bucky’s tone that made Steve’s blood run cold, even before he’d processed what Bucky had said.

And then he saw the way Dr Stape flinched from the word-

_Oh, God no…_

Steve had no idea how Bucky had worked that out – but he could hear that Bucky was completely sure, and that was enough.

“ _I’m_ not Hydra,” Stape asserted, defensively.

“So, your boss is?” Steve demanded

“No, _no_ , I didn’t mean-” Stape screwed his eyes shut, and shook his head, waving a hand at them, _forget that, let me start again._ “No one here is Hydra. I don’t think any of my employers have any history with that organisation – but, I mean, _I_ don’t-”

“Someone does,” Bucky informed him, with that same cold certainty. Stape bit his bottom lip.

“No, it’s just that… The company bought this building, after the fall of SHIELD, and… a few other resources,” Stape explained, awkwardly. “Some of the medical research. And, look, I know Hydra was an evil organisation. I’ve not spoken to anyone here who doesn’t know that. But…. _Some_ of their discoveries were important. I’m not condoning how they made those discoveries, or what they were planning on using them for. I would have tried to stop those things from happening, if I’d been there at the time… But they did happen. And Hydra _did_ learn things, things that could be used for _good_. And, so, yes, there _is_ that connection, I suppose,” he took a deep breath, and ran a hand over his face. “And I don’t know whether Talleroy’s interest in the serum, or any of the information they used to get to this stage, is based on what they’ve learned from Hydra – but that _doesn’t_ mean anyone here was a member of that organisation, or supports their values, or that anyone had anything to do with what happened to you-”

“Someone does,” Bucky said again, just as coldly. Stape stuttered to a stop, his eyes flashing with a helpless sort of alarm.

“Well… I don’t…. Not as far as I know, they don’t,” he answered, weakly.

“‘ _Compassion is a choice of the strong’_ is a Hydra phrase,” Bucky informed him. “And it’s not something they wrote in their _research_ , and it’s not something they had engraved on their _equipment_ – it’s something they used to _say_ ,” and he narrowed his eyes at Stape, scornfully. “I just want you to know that whoever you’re working for, they _are_ the people who did this to me – or they’re on speaking terms with them, at least. That ‘evil organisation’, the one you’d have stopped if you’d been there at the time?” And he left a beat, for emphasis. “They didn’t tell they’re underlings what they were really up to, either.”

Steve saw Stape swallow hard, and pinch his lips, the _slightest_ flicker of doubt behind his eyes. But then he set his shoulders, _defiantly._

“We have some tests to be getting on with,” Stape replied formally, gesturing towards the shadows at the back of the room.

Steve felt a cold, creeping horror cover his body as two lab techs appeared, each pushing a medical trolley… one of which was laid out with syringes, and tourniquets, and IV bags.

He shifted into panic mode immediately. He didn’t think about the next words he blurted out – he was blindly _stalling_.

“Look, maybe you got into this thing to help people – but what if you were wrong? What if you’ve just been tricked into helping an _evil_ organisation do something terrible? What about all the things you don’t know?” Steve implored, speaking too quickly. “This _isn’t_ the only way to help people – this could end up hurting so many people. What if you could stop that? I know you feel bad about this. I know… you… know exactly what you’re doing,” he trailed of into a defeated sigh.

He'd watched Stape’s face very carefully, as he’d delivered that speech. The particular churning of guilt, the spikes of nervousness – the flashes of defensive anger. And Steve had realised… Maybe Stape was telling _himself_ this was all for the greater good. Maybe he’d part convinced himself that he really was the hero of this story… But Steve could see that, just below the surface, Stape knew full well he was in this for selfish reasons.

 _That’s_ where his shame came from.

That’s why he was so keen to explain himself – to reshape this narrative, for himself as much as for them.

That’s why he didn’t want to hear the truth about this company, why he felt compelled to defend them…

Because, clearly, Stape already knew that this was dangerous, that it was unethical – that it _wasn’t_ the only way to help people.

Obviously, he knew he _could_ walk away from this… somewhere, he knew he _should_.

But Stape wanted the glory of making this discovery himself. Or he wanted the power that came with knowing the science behind it. Or Jesse had promised him something, or he just _wanted_ to see himself as a hero…

Whatever it was, Stape knew he should feel ashamed of it. Just not enough to do the right thing, apparently.

And that meant that nothing Steve could say would convince him-

And that meant whatever slim chance there was of Steve sympathising with him, or trying to help him, had just gone up in smoke.

Stape simply shook his head, sadly – and turned towards the trolleys.

“You’re _not_ taking my blood,” Steve exclaimed, panicked and angry and openly emotional. He felt Bucky sit up straighter, shifting his gaze from Stape to the side of Steve’s head.

But Steve didn’t dare look away from the trolley – the row of syringes, glinting ominously under the strip lighting.

“…You’re scared of needles, Captain Rogers?” Stape asked, curious rather than mocking.

“I swear to God, you so much as cut me…” Steve breathed, his whole body tensing upwards, his heart pounding painfully in his head.

He saw Stape swallow nervously.

“…Well, before anything else, we have a simple ECG to run,” he replied, cautiously. “And a standard pulse meter to attach – just a cuff, on your wrist…”

Steve just held his breath, every inch of his being frozen in painful alarm – like an animal under the gaze of a predator.

“…That’ll take about twenty minutes or so…” Stape continued, shuffling over to the other trolley, gesturing to the monitor sitting on top of it. Steve didn’t even look at it.

But there was just an inch of relief, realising that no one was going to take his blood _now_.

Twenty minutes… it was a small reprieve, but it was _something._

Stape finally looked away from them and turned his attention to the equipment he was setting up. Steve felt his limbs begin to tremble, his breathing suddenly high and tight in his chest. And then he glanced over at Bucky, who was looking back at him with a confused sort of concern.

He raised an eyebrow, _you’re really freaked out about them taking your blood? It isn’t something else?_

And Steve gave his head the tiniest little shake, _there’s more to this than you know – but they really can’t take my blood._

Bucky frowned just briefly. And then he nodded, o _kay, if you say so._ And then subtly flexed his metal arm for emphasis.

Which was some small comfort, at least.

*

Well, apparently Tony _did_ still know how to drive a car-

Although, he had to say ‘apparently’, because even as he was screeching to a halt in front of the building, he couldn’t really remember the drive over.

Just the vague recollection of Rhodey yelling at him, increasingly hysterically.

When Tony glanced at him, Rhodey was wide eyed and sweating, his fingertips still digging into the upholstery like he was hanging on for dear life.

“You okay?” Tony asked perfunctorily, already turning to scan the surroundings.

From the outside, it was entirely unremarkable. A large, blocky building, set in a vast concrete lot. It had modern widows and a newly installed glass entrance way, over which there was a shiny, corporate sign – _Talleroy Communications_. It looked like a warehouse that had been hastily repurposed as an office, like most of the buildings they’d driven past in this sprawling, industrial neighbourhood.

“Jesus Christ my whole life just flashed before my eyes,” Rhodey panted, reaching over to snatch his keys out of the ignition. Tony just let him. He’d moved on from the ‘car’ part of this plan.

He was already picturing the building as he knew it really was. Laying the blueprint in his mind over the top of the structure in front of his eyes, slotting in all the details he had. He knew that this place had once been rigged with some very innovative, very _Hydra_ defence systems, and he couldn’t imagine that ‘Talleroy Communications’ had bothered removing them – they were probably considered a bonus. So, there were a few localised hydraulic gas release systems that he should take as a given, a few rooms that he _knew_ could be sealed off, and that he should therefore avoid. He could also take a reasonable guess as to where Talleroy might’ve made some upgrades, given the layout of the building and the access points-

“Seriously Tony, what the hell is going on?” Rhodey demanded.

But Tony’s mind was just working _differently_ now. Like every synapse had been rearranged. Like every single process in his head, from the most complex thoughts to the very basic life-functions, had shifted to focus on Steve. Like Tony had evolved to a higher functionality, for that purpose alone.

There were no inconvenient observations or emotional responses, right now. Tony hadn’t even bothered to note that he was _outside_ for the first time in twenty years. What should’ve been the unavoidable, natural reactions to this situation were of no use to Steve, and therefore just weren’t there.

There was no conflict or confusion between Tony’s mental processes anymore. No clash between his panic reaction and his conscious intention, no time wasted on choosing a priority, no difficulty thinking about several things at once. It made his own mind feel strangely distant from him, as though he’d just been programmed to get to Steve as efficiently as possible, and now he was just watching it run…

Even that vicious, animal rage was waiting patiently – like it knew its time would come.

Tony didn’t even have to _listen_ to Rhodey’s question. His mind simply provided whichever responses would limit discussion, and therefore get him to Steve the quickest.

“A black-market drug company, or possibly chemical weapons manufacturer, have kidnapped Steve and Bucky,” he replied, eerily calm and level, like he was reading a prepared statement. “And either some of these people used to be Hydra, or they’re working from Hydra’s notes, but either way, I’m getting him out of there.”

“Okay, this is really sounding more like an Avengers thing,” Rhodey suggested, forcefully.

“The place is rigged to gas intruders – it has to be someone who doesn’t have to breathe,” Tony replied.

Which wasn’t the real answer, obviously. Tony hadn’t bothered to think of the _real_ answer. He was simply looking for something he could say quickly, something that would placate Rhodey while Tony finished making his plans-

This was the conversational equivalent of dangling your keys in front of a toddler while you tried to deal with a grown-up task.

Knowing that he could – and _would_ – shut down any tantrum from Rhodey if he really got in the way… it was just simpler to appease him, until he did.

“Okay, but I’m sure they have contingencies for that – hey, they have a _Hulk-_ ” Rhodey said, more urgently, as Tony ran through his plan one last time-

And then just got out of the car, without answering.

“ _Hey_!” Rhodey yelled, scrambling to open his door and hurry after him. “Okay, but – _sunlight?_ ” He reminded Tony frantically, gesturing up at the sky.

“I’m not going to be out in it long,” Tony answered automatically, never breaking his stride, almost at the entrance already-

And then he heard the squeal of tires.

He looked up just as an Avengers response van swept into the lot, and then came to a dramatic stop just beside them. Tony allowed a little ripple of relief to flow through him – _just_ because it would be more efficient to explain everything to them directly.

“Look, see, they’re _here_ ,” Rhodey was telling him, pointing at the van. Tony nodded, and folded his arms, and waited impatiently for one of them – any one of them – to get out.

The first thing he saw was the tip of an arrow, glinting in the sun – and then Clint, stepping out from behind the door, his eyes fixed on Tony’s.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded, aiming his bow at Tony’s head. Nat appeared beside him, her features set in cold determination, and then finally Sam – who looked far more emotional about the situation.

“I’m Tony Stark,” he answered, and then glanced at Nat. “We spoke on the phone.”

He watched all three of them flinch in surprise, their faces melting into blank shock and their mouths falling open in unison. Clint slowly lowered his bow, obviously dazed.

“Oh. Right,” Nat muttered, looking him up and down.

“This entire building is hooked up to a hydraulic gas release system,” Tony explained, authoritative and mildly impatient. Nat was the first to get over the surprise, her face hardening into concentration again almost immediately – so Tony directed the rest of his speech at her. “Best guess, several places in the building are set up to gas intruders before they can even reach for a weapon. So, you can’t go in there until that system is shut down.”

“We’re not leaving them in there,” Sam asserted, almost angrily, shifting between glancing anxiously at the building and looking defiantly at Tony.

“No, I’m going in, and once I’ve shut down the central system, _then_ you can follow me,” Tony corrected, already adjusting a setting on the side of the gauntlet.

“What’s that thing do?” Clint asked, squinting at it.

“It doesn’t help him to drive,” Rhodey muttered.

“The central system used to be controlled from the top floor, and there’s no reason they’d have changed that,” Tony carried on talking to Natasha. “But they’re almost certainly holding Steve and Bucky in the basement, so, I’m going down to get them before I go up to let you in,” and Tony’s tone made clear that he wouldn’t be taking criticism on his plan.

“And why won’t you just get gassed?” Natasha asked.

And it turned out that two decades worth of self-loathing and self-preservation, _all_ of his previous certainties and priorities, all of his deepest and most horrible fears… were of no use to Steve right now. So.

“Because I’m a vampire,” he replied, without even thinking about it. Because it was just in Steve’s best interested to dispense with the question, and this was the quickest way to do it. “We don’t need to breathe at all.”

He felt Rhodey turn to stare at him. Natasha just blinked.

“I sent out an electro magnetic pulse as soon as we arrived, which should’ve shut down any cameras,” Tony continued, turning his attention to the side of the building. “So they don’t know who’s out here yet, but they know somethings up – you should be prepared for them to come to you,” he warned.

“Okay,” Nat nodded, “But-”

“I’ll radio as soon as I’ve got them,” Tony just talked over the top of her… taking careful aim at the wall, twenty feet to the left of the main entrance-

Because, obviously, they’d have some sort of security covering all of the actual doors-

And Tony preferred the route that started in _this_ corridor-

“I still think one of us should go w-”

Nat’s sentence was cut short with a startled gasp, as the repulsor blast lit up the air around them. The wall exploded into dust, leaving a clean, round gap.

“ _What the actual fucking fuck, Tony!”_ Rhodey yelped, leaping backwards.

But Tony didn’t even hear that one.

His entire body had entered a sort of sensory tunnel vision. Now, he could hear every echo and footfall and electric whirr in that building – and nothing else. He froze, like a tiger watching its prey, cataloguing every minuscule detail before he pounced.

And then he let go of a little breath, and flexed his muscles into position.

“It won’t take me five minutes to get to him,” he said, his voice darker now. Barely his own. “If you don’t hear anything by then, you get in, and you get him out.”

“Okay… Why has _he_ been inside for twenty years?” Sam blurted, to no one in particular. But Tony didn’t waste time asking himself whether it was a real question or not – his head was already a minute ahead of his body, and still stuck in that dismissive, auto-respond mode.

“I was waiting for him,” he answered, honestly – already stalking into the building.

Going in for the kill.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall spare you the details of all the tedious dramas of the last few weeks, and simply apologise for the delay in this chapter- And I am very, very sorry.  
> If it helps, most of the drama has passed (and, crucially, it's finally dropped below 30°C in my living room....) and we're really quite close to the end now, so you shouldn't have to wait too much longer!
> 
> If you wish to avoid spoilers, don't read the endnote.  
> If the ending of this chapter makes you anxious, please read the endnote.

Steve had been counting down the seconds since Dr Stape attached the last of the little ECG tabs.

He was vaguely aware of the computerised beeping of his own pulse, starting to increase as that twenty-minute deadline grew closer. He glanced up at the monitor once or twice, but wasn’t able to take in any of the readings… There were just too many things to worry about, for Steve to care whether he was about to have a heart attack. 

And it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on them.

He tried to fight the fears of what might happen, the nightmare mental images and the unanswerable questions about how bad it would feel. He knew that sitting here panicking about the outcome would only make it more likely – it would stop him thinking clearly, eat into the time he could have used to think of other things-

How to get out of it.

…If he should really be trying to get out of it.

Steve couldn’t tell whether he hated himself for being this stubborn, or if he hated himself for even considering a compromise…

But he _knew_ how unreasonable all of this might seem. That, taking his own emotions out of it…

He was asking Bucky to risk his life, just to save Steve from having his blood taken.

He was compromising this whole mission, simply to avoid pain for himself.

He was changing what would have been the obvious plan, to fit in with _his_ emotions and needs and limitations.

Steve knew that was wrong, and selfish, and so unlike him.

But, on the other hand… He just _couldn’t_.

The terror it inspired in him was worse than the fear he’d felt as he crashed that plan.

And he couldn’t explain it, and he couldn’t rationalise it – and he couldn’t deny it.

_And I can’t stop it. However determined I am, however right I am… I’m not strong enough._

And then, when there can’t have been more than a few minutes left to go, Steve saw one of the guards move. He looked up just as she put her hand to her ear, and glanced at her partner…

And then they both changed position, so that they were standing side on rather than with their backs to the door…

_The camera has gone out._

Steve had been trained to do the same thing in the same situation – he recognised the additional edge of caution in their expressions, the way they glanced up at the ceiling.

He looked over at Bucky, who had clearly seen it too.

They both knew this would be their best chance to get out of the building.

Steve saw Bucky flex his wrist, and then glance first at Dr Stape, and then at each of the guards in turn, and then at the door. Steve understood entirely – and he understood that it was his job to get Dr Stape into position.

Calculating quickly, he realised that he had to do something to get Stape to come close to him… but, ideally, something that wouldn’t put him on the defensive…

_If I can convince him there is something wrong with me…_

Steve looked up at the monitor, still beeping a steady rate…

He knew that no matter how good his performance, however enthusiastically he grimaced or moaned, it would be the equipment that Stape looked at first.

Steve would have to make his heart beat faster.

As subtly as he could, Steve began taking shorter, shallower breaths. He dug his nails hard into his palms, deliberately twisting his shoulders so that they were tense and uncomfortable.

And then, when he had done everything he could think of to trick his body into a distress response, it was time to focus his thoughts. To intentionally commit to any idea that would make his heart race.

So, awful though it was, Steve stopped fighting that fear. He stopped trying to stay calm, dropped all attempts to put it out of his mind or rationalise it. Instead, he began to actively indulge the worst trauma he could possibly imagine-

He _made_ himself think about Stape taking his blood.

Steve forced himself to picture it, to believe it would be every bit as bad as his panicked mind could possibly make it.

He ran away with the idea of Tony being angry at him for it, hurt by it, _leaving him_ because of it – he didn’t allow himself the comfort of thinking how unlikely all of that was.

He imagined Stape laughing at him, gloating, being deliberately cruel. He imagined Stape knowing every one of his darkest fears and exploiting them expertly… in the way that only Steve’s own mind could manage, in fact.

He imagined Bucky being killed trying to stop it, yelling at Steve for his selfishness and stupidity as he died-

The beeping on the monitor picked up sharply, the rapid rhythm blending together into something more like an alarm.

Steve felt the way Stape tensed, the sudden air of urgency in the room.

_Now_ Steve made his shallow breathing obvious. He hissed painfully, swallowed hard, twisted his features into a grimace-

“Captain Rogers?” Doctor Stape enquired gently, taking a hesitant step forward-

Steve imagined him with a syringe in his hand.

He pictured the needle piercing his skin, the flush of red in the IV tube-

The monitor burst into a high-pitched siren.

“Okay, Captain Rogers, just take a deep breath for me,” Stape was speaking in the tone of a doctor now, his hesitance forgotten as he rushed over to Steve’s side-

There was an ear-splitting crash as Bucky tore free of his restraints with enough force to break the chair to pieces around him. Steve heard the wet crack of Bucky hitting Stape, and then the dull thud of Stape hitting the floor like a sandbag.

He looked up just in time to see Bucky hurling the back of the chair at one of the guards, knocking her prone. Her partner was still in a state of shock as Bucky took two strides forward – bits of the chair still tied to each leg – and hit him once right between the eyes.

Within a second and a half, Steve and Bucky were in a room with three unconscious bodies.

Bucky barely stopped to catch his breath before he turned and ripped the back of the monitor clean away, silencing that incessant alarm. It was oddly comforting – for a moment Steve could convince himself that the connection was two way, that quieting the monitor would somehow slow his heart.

“It’s okay Steve, we’re good,” Bucky reassured him, as he knelt to untie the ropes around Steve’s wrists. Steve pulled his arms free and flexed his shoulders – but stayed seated for a second.

Taking slow breaths, in through is nose, out through his mouth.

Winding back all those nightmare scenarios. Rushing to remind himself that it wasn’t real, no one was going to take his blood, Bucky wasn’t hurt, Tony wouldn’t hate him.

Picturing a vast starry sky…

“Steve, are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve gulped, even though he was a few minutes short of being back to normal.

It was close enough. He’d worked through worse panics than this.

“So, what’s the plan?” Bucky asked, as Steve finally forced himself to his feet.

“Get out of the building,” Steve confirmed, only slightly breathless. “Contact the team – well, if they aren’t already here,” he commented, glancing at the guards. “We don’t know why the cameras went out.”

“Well, whatever did it, we’d better go before they fix it – whatever we’re about to run into, it’s better than staying here.”

Steve simply nodded _okay, let’s go._

The door felt heavy when Steve tugged it open a crack.

He hated it.

He hated the specific vulnerability this forced on him, the fact that it came with so much emotional baggage and so many personal memories.

How clearly he could recall the impotent anger, the humiliation of fear-

That hopeless feeling, that all of the courage and strength of character in the world were of no use without the power to see it through.

And Steve _knew_ that his value, and his power, weren’t directly linked to his physical strength. He could tell himself that he was more than that, and mean it.

But this so clearly reminded him of when he _hadn’t_ known his value – and had no power at all. A time when he was not only weak, but poor, and sickly, and unknown…

And then he saw Bucky curl his metal hand into a fist, pointedly, a silent reminder, _I’ve got your back._

And Steve hated that too.

He hated being something else for Bucky to worry about. He hated not being able to help keep Bucky safe. He _hated_ that he was being forced to do less than anyone else, when he didn’t have that right.

But this wasn’t about what Steve hated.

This was about what he _could_ do.

So he nodded at Bucky, and they made a dash for it.

*

Tony’s hastily calculated – and created – route through the building had proven pretty effective. He’d made it down the first flight of stairs in a few seconds flat, and without encountering a single staff member.

But the stairs down to the lower level were at the far end of a long corridor, and Tony was already halfway along it when he heard the flutter of panicked footsteps coming up from the basement-

So, he had no choice but to brace for conflict.

Two guards appeared, holding what looked like rifles. Then an irritated looking man in a suit. Then two more guards, marching a foot behind.

Tony was able to process the situation with incredible speed.

The guards didn’t spot Tony, standing right there in the centre of the corridor, for at least three seconds – not until they’d taken quite a few anxious strides towards him. And then they were clearly taken aback to find him there, visibly fumbling to raise their weapons-

They were in over their head, then.

And the man they were guarding was more openly unnerved than a Hydra boss or a black-market weapon dealer would’ve been – so, either this was a small-scale operation in big scale trouble, or this was a lower-management guy.

“Who’re you?” One of the guards demanded – which told Tony that they weren’t the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Either they were scared to do something so drastic, or felt a simple human reluctance to take a life…

That didn’t mean they _wouldn’t_ shoot him, though.

And Tony was better placed to take a bullet or two than any human being on earth… But blood loss was one of the things that _could_ kill him, if it happened quickly enough.

So, he had to disarm them.

And his best plan was to do it in the most intimidating way possible. Tony could be reasonably sure that these people would scare easily… That, faced with something genuinely _inhuman_ , they would simply panic and run.

All of this had flashed through Tony’s mind before the guy had even finished asking the question – and immediately, he’d snatched the rifles from the two guards in front, hard enough to squeeze the barrels closed.

He heard a sharp gasp as everyone tried to take a step backwards, the guards at the back realising – a second after Tony – that they didn’t have a clean shot.

Tony _had_ been planning to use that cover; he’d already plotted out his best chance of ducking that shot if it did come, mentally watched how he could throw all four of them off balance-

But now his attention had been snagged by the guns clutched in his hand.

No one knew firearms like Tony Stark.

Even without his sudden focus and enhanced processing capacity, Tony had always been able to understand any weapon at a glance. He was familiar with them on a theoretical level, and a functional level, and a historical level-

And he knew this was a dart gun.

A not-especially-well-designed dart gun – almost certainly adapted from a traditional weapon. But still, he was sure.

…There was a better way to play this.

Tony threw the weapons down and pushed the two front guards aside, a flat palm to the centre of each of their chests, brushing them up against the wall as though they were cardboard standees.

Making sure he _gave_ the two remaining guards a clear shot, keeping his arms outstretched so that they had a bigger target-

Tony raised his eyebrows, _go on then._

It _still_ took another second for one of them to come to his senses and fire a shot – a tiny little dart, lodged into Tony’s shoulder.

There was a pregnant pause. He could feel the first two guards holding their breath under his hands. 

The same guard visibly panicked and fired off three more shots in quick succession, leaving a trail of little darts up along Tony’s arm.

Tony waited just long enough to watch the dread rise up in all of their faces.

And then he asked, simply,

“Did you _have_ a plan B?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before he tossed the first two guards up along the hallway. He let go of an animalistic roar, a sound he wouldn’t have known how to make before right now. The other two guards got the message and took off down the corridor at speed. The guy in the suit scrambled to do the same-

But Tony snatched him up by his lapels, and lifted him two feet into the air, and held him there as he told him,

“Not you.”

The guy actually went limp with fear, the colour visibly running from his skin. Tony could hear his heart beating.

“Who’re you?” Tony demanded. It was an obvious effort for the guy to answer him over the violent trembling of his chest.

“J-J-Jess-sse Nil-Nilson-”

“You running this place, _Jesse_?”

“No! No, no, I’m just an operations guy-”

“So, you know where Steve Rogers is?”

“Down – Down there-” Jesse tried frantically to get his limbs to work, jerking his whole body in the general direction of the basement.

“What’ve you done to him?” Tony demanded, his voice darker now, his grip tightening pointedly. His legs were already tensed to move, the second he got the information he wanted-

But part of his brain had worked out that he might need to know this. That, however desperate he was to simply _get to Steve_ , he still had to think about how he was going to take care of him when he did.

“Nothing! I swear to God, we never - we would never have hurt him-”

“Don’t lie to me, Jesse.”

“We gave him a mild sedative, just to keep him here, it’ll wear off, it’s safe, I promise, please, I swear to God-”

And Tony had just decided that he believed him. That there was nothing useful to be gained from this man. That it was time to toss him aside and carry on down to the basement-

But Jesse just kept talking.

“We were never going to hurt him. We only wanted some medical data, to take a little bit of blood, just to-”

But his sentence was cut off with a horrible, wet choking sound, as Tony grabbed him by the throat.

“You did _what_?” He demanded, in a low feral _growl_.

For one white hot second, Tony was so flooded by pure, physical rage that it was literally all he was. There was such a raw, spiteful urge to _hurt_ Jesse for that. All the pain and outrage that came with that horrible mental image-

_He would have been frightened. He would have told you to stop-_

Tony _wanted_ to kill this man-

And then Jesse began to claw frenetically and fruitlessly at Tony’s hand, a visceral terror in his eyes, his chest fluttering in a desperate attempt to breathe.

And then, out of nowhere, there was that voice again.

That different voice, that seemed to speak from a different part of him, like a higher authority-

_This is not the time._

Tony let go of Jesse’s throat, and let him fall into a heap at his feet.

He watched Jesse gasp and wheeze, and flail in his attempt to crawl away.

That pure, painful hatred still pulsed through Tony’s veins. A _desire_ to kill this man for what he’d done to Steve, to make it as violent and frightening as he possibly could…

That was obviously a vampire thing.

An impulse that came directly from this new and unique bond he had to Steve – something that was simply a part of him now, that he would always feel, that he’d always have to take into consideration, from the point on-

But it wasn’t _all_ he was.

He was still _him_.

These impulses were still being applied to Tony Stark – and that, as it turned out, was very different to them being applied to someone like Obie.

And maybe Tony couldn’t control how much he wanted to hurt this person… But, if he put a lot of effort in, he could control what he did about it.

_That_ was the choice he had. Not whether he was going to feel these animal impulses-

But whether he was going to become an animal.

So, instead, Tony leant over Jesse, and put all of that hatred into his tone.

“If _anything_ happens, to _either_ of them – whether it’s your fault or not – I will hunt you down, and I’ll do something so much worse than murder you, and everyone you love,” and he bared his teeth to make the point. “So, I’d be doing everything I could to call the guards off, if I were you.”

By this time Jesse was openly sobbing, nodding hysterically, failing to stutter out the word _yes_. The unmistakable smell of urine wafted through the air.

Tony just left him there in a pile on the floor, as he carried on along to the stairs.

*

Steve was trying to get a mental image of the building from one corner of the basement.

The room they’d been held in was at one end of a short corridor, which gave them just enough cover to stand and process their surroundings. They took turns stealing glances around the corner at an open plan lab area, now swarming with employees rushing to the staircase at the far end of the room. A quick calculation of the space suggested this wasn’t the entire ground floor of the building, that there was another room through the double doors at the back of the lab.

There would almost certainly be more stairs elsewhere in the building.

And they had no chance of getting to _these_ stairs, without being seen by the crowd of people gathering at the bottom of them.

And they had no choice but to go up…

Steve gestured to the doors and then looked back at Bucky,

“What do you think?”

He saw Bucky wince. Steve could practically hear him thinking,

_We have no idea what we’ll be walking into._

_It could be a dead end._

_We don’t have much chance of getting to that end of the room unseen, either…_

And then his face melted into resignation

_…But it’s the only chance we have. So._

Heart beating hard in his ears, Steve made a run for the back of the room – keeping his body low and his movements fluid, calculating the maximum cover as he went. He was greatly relieved to find that his stealth was more a question of intelligence than strength. Okay, he couldn’t push himself forward quite as quickly as he would’ve liked – but he still _knew_ how to move, he still had that muscle memory to rely on.

He stayed close to the wall, his eyes fixed on the target, reminding himself that his best chance was to commit to this completely.

It seemed to take forever, and no time at all, before his hand was up against the door. He allowed himself half a second to brace before he pushed it open and stepped into the unknown-

And, _thank God,_ it was an empty office.

Steve let go of a heavy breath, as Bucky closed the door behind them and slumped his weight against it.

Steve spotted the staircase at the far end of the room immediately, but he forced himself to pause and scan for threats before he moved.

Another open plan space, with several office desks that had clearly been abandoned at speed. There were jackets left hanging over the backs of chairs, and still steaming coffee cups sitting next to quietly humming computer monitors. There was another set of doors on the left hand wall that they would have to keep an eye on, as well as the double doors they’d just come through… and there was the possibility that there were people coming down those stairs to meet them… So, basically, they were vulnerable from all sides, then.

“We’re two floors down, I reckon,” Bucky breathed.

“Whatever is going on, the staff are evacuating,” Steve added, cautiously. “And it looks like they’re all running for the main entrance.”

“We could aim for the west side of the building,” Bucky suggested. “I don’t know if there’s another door, but there were a lot of windows, right?”

“I don’t think there is another door – but that might be better,” Steve added, already trying to plan the route in his head. “Means the staff are less likely to be heading that way.”

He thought about adding that they didn’t know what the staff were running _from_ , or that they had no plan for what they’d do if they _couldn’t_ avoid a conflict-

But it didn’t matter, did it?

They had no choice but to keep going.

“Okay,” Steve whispered, already moving forward. Taking one final glance at each of the entrances, before his purposeful stride broke into a run-

They’d made it halfway across the room before he heard the familiar swish of a door opening behind him. His chest seized in fear, his legs still pushing forward as he processed what that meant-

And then there was a deafening bang, and the ceiling just ahead of them exploded into a cloud of dust.

Steve immediately recognised it as a gunshot and jarred to a painful stop, instinctively ducking and bringing his hands up to cover his head.

On autopilot, he swung around to find where the shot had come from-

And almost failed to recognise Dr Stape for the second time in one day.

“Don’t fucking move,” Stape spat, his voice pulled tight and trembling. There was a small cut on his forehead that he had left to bleed profusely, staining the left hand of his shirt a gory red. His eyes were wild, his lips pulled into a confused sneer.

He was either terrified or furious – and neither were good qualities in someone holding a gun.

“Okay, look, I know you don’t want to hurt either of us,” Steve said, edging forward as subtly as he could-

Stape was still standing by the double doors, at least fifty feet away from them – there was no way Steve would be able to get to him before he had the chance to fire a shot. Not with his legs as weak as they were.

…But, if he was careful, he might be able to get between Stape and Bucky, at least.

“I _didn’t_ want to hurt either of you!” Stape outright screamed, the gun shaking in his hands. “I _told_ you that. I told you we wanted to help people!”

“You can still help people,” Steve tried to keep his voice level, as he inched ever closer. “Believe me, whatever trouble you think you’re in right now, it’s nothing compared to what half the Avengers have come from-”

“Oh shut _up,”_ Stape hissed, raising the gun at him-

Steve held his breath, and tensed his shoulders, and braced for the shot he was sure was coming-

And, if it _had_ , Steve’s very last thought would’ve been,

_I’m so sorry Tony._

Which was a strangely separate, eerily clear revelation.

Steve had spent his entire life searching for a love like that. Someone who would be his last thought before he died-

Someone he wanted to live _for_.

Someone he felt a part of. Not just someone that he’d be scared to lose, but someone he’d be scared to leave behind. Someone he wanted to save _himself_ for, not just someone he wanted to save. Someone who could be the other half of him. Someone he could share his entire life with…

And, with that, Steve realised that this might even be a weakness – that, maybe, loving Tony like this would give him all sorts of vulnerabilities that he hadn’t had before.

A fear of having his blood taken.

A reluctance to throw himself in harms way.

A recognition that he wasn’t just living for himself anymore – or, he wouldn’t be, if he ever got to share a life with Tony.

…And that he wanted all of that anyway.

In this moment, Steve really, desperately _wanted_ to live-

And, God, that was different to not wanting to die.

“I’m not going to be an Avenger, am I?” Stape barked, the gun still fixed on Steve’s chest. “I don’t _want_ to be a fucking Avenger – I just want the reputation I worked for – that I _earned_. Twenty years spent helping people, saving lives, and it’s all fucked, because Captain America is _scared of needles?_ ”

Stape threw his arms wide to gesture wildly at that, and Steve tried not to look too openly relieved that he’d moved the gun away.

“I just want to walk away from this mess, that’s all I want. This mess that I didn’t even make, that I got dragged into, just to _help people-_ ”

“So, walk away,” Bucky suggested, shuffling forward himself – obviously thinking the same thing that Steve was. “No offence, but no one is going to bother going after the doctor. They’re going to want the guy running this place – unless you kill Captain America. If you do that, it’s the end for you. You know it.”

But Stape was already shaking his head-

Raising the gun again.

“I’m not going on the run,” he promised them, darkly. “I’m not giving up my whole life, and hoping you don’t come after me – and you think I _believe that?_ No. No.”

And he swallowed bitterly, steeling himself.

He set his shoulders more purposefully, his grip tightening on the gun.

Steve’s mouth flooded with the taste of copper, his muscles tightening in furious panic-

He _couldn’t believe_ that he was really this helpless against a manic neurologist with a Smith and Wesson-

“No one is going to know who killed Captain America,” Stape said, his voice moving higher in his chest, the gun trembling more obviously in his hand.

“They’ll find you,” Steve shouted, desperately – already knowing it wouldn’t work. That Stape couldn’t even hear him anymore.

And then there was another loud bang.

And a blinding flash of light.

And a hot, fine spray of blood.

And the surge of nauseating horror, as Steve realised…

That _wasn’t_ his blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I like to build suspense towards the end of every chapter, I also appreciate that MCD is a major tag for a reason, and a topic that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. So, rather than having anyone being anxious that I've woefully mistagged or something, I'd rather just let you know in advance - none of the major characters die.  
> I won't say what DOES happen - but, yeah, i'd be pretty pissed if a writer just threw that in 150k words in, without a tag, so - that doesn't happen. If it helps.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the interest of giving too many details, rather than too few - by my standards, this is a fairly violent chapter. I wouldn't say it falls into the realms of gore or anything like that, but if you have any concerns or triggers regarding wounds, blood that isn't of the fun-vampire-variety, near death moments, or descriptions of self harm, please read the end notes (there is no actual self harm in this update, but the images used may be triggering in that regard.)  
> Also, if there are any specific tags I should be using for any of this that I've forgotten to include, please let me know.  
> And, as ever, apologies to anyone whose comment I've not had a chance to reply to - please know I read and cherish every one of them, and will be responding to all of them next week, when I'm off work (woohoo!)  
> Hope you enjoy it!

The staircase that Tony had taken led down to a dark surveillance room.

The space was long and narrow, with a door at either end, as well as the one he’d just stormed in through. A row of empty office chairs sat at one long desk, lit only by the white static on the bank of television screens – so, they hadn’t managed to get the cameras back online yet…

And Tony really _was_ about to do a quick scan of the room, and think about how to get out of there safely, and consider all the things he might find when he did-

But, right in the middle of that logical, highly efficient thought process, there was this strange feeling from inside his chest. A sensation that seemed to run under his skin and between his muscles, entirely separate to him even though it came from every part of him. Like pain in a phantom limb, or an itch that wasn’t really there, or…

Like nothing he’d ever felt before, actually.

It was eerie, and alien, and… oddly comforting…

… _Steve._

Steve was close now – Tony could _feel_ him.

He could feel Steve’s heart beating against his own ribs-

Steve was _scared_ -

It was such an overwhelming experience. Tony was gripped by a bottomless, physical horror. A level of terror that he’d never conceived of, _closer_ to him than anything he’d ever felt…

But, at the same time, there was also something wonderful about it. Being _that_ close to Steve. Feeling this connection in such a pure form, separate from all the background noise of human life…

And it wasn’t that his concentration slipped, exactly. It was just that, for maybe half a second, _all_ of Tony’s faculties were focused on that sensation. Less than a moment, in which Tony was too completely immersed in this strange shift inside himself to pay precise attention to his surroundings-

And it was enough.

When Tony’s senses sharpened again, the first thing he recognised was a movement in the shadows.

He braced as he turned, already aware of the chance he’d missed – the outcomes he was left with.

There was a jarring _bang_ , and then a hot bite of pain just above his hip.

He roared again, the gauntlet raised to where the shot had come from, his other hand covering the wound that was already bleeding through his shirt.

He found a guard cowering in the darkness, right in the middle of being shocked to her core by the sound Tony had just made. He saw the semi-professional marksman stance dissolve completely, as she registered that Tony was something _other_ -

And then Tony fired the gauntlet, deliberately aiming a foot to the left of her, blowing a hole through to what he knew was an empty stairwell. The guard shrieked, throwing her gun aside as she flinched away from the noise. She looked up at Tony, wet eyed and open mouthed, and Tony made sure to fix her with a dark stare before he barked at her,

“ _Run_.”

He didn’t even bother to watch as she scrambled for the stairs.

Steve was so close now-

And _so_ frightened,

And Tony _had_ to get to him.

He just pushed forward, following that feeling, seeking Steve out through his instincts alone. _Knowing_ which door to go through – _expecting_ to find Steve on the other side of it.

He could barely feel his own body anymore, he was so focused on what Steve was feeling-

He couldn’t think of anything but how close he was…

How close this was going to be.

When Tony burst into the next room, it almost felt familiar. Like he’d known exactly what he was going to see.

Steve, gripped with fear – and _anger_. His eyes wild with furious injustice, his whole body tensed in desperation.

Bucky, standing just beside him, one arm held in front of his face, his metal arm out to the left of him in a purely symbolic attempt to shield Steve.

Tony had come into the room through the side doors, closer to Steve and Bucky than the man they were staring at.

Two long strides and he would’ve been there, between Steve and any danger-

But it wasn’t Steve this man was aiming at.

Tony understood what he was looking at immediately. Without words, without any processing-

He could hardly see the man behind the gun. The facial features, the expression, the clothes were all somewhat blurred, like Tony’s brain knew better to waste time with the details. He simply recognised that this was a threat, an imminent threat-

He could hear Steve’s voice echoing in his recent memory, a phrase that had still hung in the air as Tony burst into the room,

_They’ll find you_

Tony knew what Steve was saying, what he was scared of,

He knew this man was aiming at Bucky, that he _was_ going to fire-

Tony knew that he couldn’t throw himself in front of Bucky without leaving Steve at risk-

That even _he_ couldn’t get to the gunman in time to stop that shot.

…That there was no time for shoot to maim. That he had to be completely sure.

It was all in his mind so quickly. At a glance, Tony knew-

 _This_ was the time.

A moment when he _did_ have a choice – a moment when he _could_ intervene.

A chance to change who died right now, rather than having to sit there and helplessly watch it happen.

He raised the gauntlet, and fired.

Tony kept his eyes on the gun as it fell away in a burst of bright red.

He was vaguely aware of how unnaturally the body behind it collapsed in on itself.

He heard the sound of the explosion bouncing off the walls around him, echoing back on itself.

That part all seemed to happen so quickly. Like it was always already done with, or something.

And then Tony looked back to Steve, and saw that Steve was okay, that he was safe – that he was right _there_ …

And then time just seemed to… slow down….

Tony took in every detail of Steve’s reaction. He saw it all in such easy, comfortable clarity.

The way Steve had braced for the shot, so scared and still so brave.

The flash of panic as he looked up at Bucky, the flood of relief when realised that neither of them was hurt… melting into an anxious sort of confusion…

And then, before Steve could look over to the pile of bloody limbs at the other end of the room, his eyes caught on Tony.

He did _the_ most adorable little double take, his initial shock blooming into a deeper, more astounded look of total disbelief…

And then awe

And then joy

And then love.

Tony watched in slow motion as Steve realised that Tony had come for him. He _saw_ how moved and overwhelmed and impressed Steve was. He felt it. Steve had never looked more beautiful than he did in that moment.

Nothing on earth had ever been that beautiful.

And Tony _actually_ thought, if this were the last thing he ever saw, at least he could die happy.

…And then he saw Steve’s gaze drop lower.

Tony watched all the happiness leave Steve in an instant, like a light had been switched out.

And then Tony remembered the sharp pain in his hip, and the sticky weight of his shirt clinging to his skin.

He saw the horror rise up in Steve’s eyes…

And felt all the strength just leak out of his body.

…This _might_ be the last thing he ever saw, actually.

“Tony?” Steve found his voice, high and scared and pleading. Like a child. And Tony wanted so much to comfort him…

But he couldn’t speak.

He tried, but suddenly there was just no power left in him. Every inch of him felt heavy, his thoughts seemed thick and blurry in his head. And there was a stab of such brutal, anguished sadness in him as he acknowledged-

He was dying.

Oh, God, this wasn’t fair-

This wasn’t _right_.

After all those years of pain and loneliness and confusion – all those years he’d had everything so wrong. Two decades believing he could never be anything other than what Obie had made of him-

And he was going to die _now?_

Right at the very moment that there was something to hope for, just when he saw all the mistakes he’d made, right when he’d finally realised that he could be more than that-

After everything he’d just done-

And he knew how he should have done it _better_.

He knew what he had started with this one rash decision, _all_ the things he could change and improve and make amends for-

God, he _wished_ -

“Tony!” Steve yelled, leaping forward – realising that Tony was falling before Tony did.

Tony didn’t work that out until he crashed heavily against Steve’s chest, his legs giving way completely as his weight collapsed against Steve’s body-

But, oh, that smell. That safe, comforting smell of home…

_Steve’s skin is warm_

_His heart is beating,_

_He is safe, he is alive,_

_He is here._

…It was okay.

Tony didn’t _want_ to die – in fact, this was _still_ the most desperate he’d ever been to live-

But if he’d died saving Steve-

If he’d done one thing, taken one single step in the right direction before he went-

If he’d at least gotten to see the truth, even if he never got the chance to do anything about it

…it was okay.

…This _was_ better.

“Tony, Tony, _please_ , talk to me,” Steve whispered, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to the floor.

And Tony _tried_.

He could hear the fear and heartbreak in Steve’s voice – Tony _knew_ how much this would hurt him.

And Tony didn’t want Steve to know that pain-

And he didn’t want to leave him-

And, Jesus, he just _wished_ -

But there was nothing he could do about that now. Tony _knew_ he’d lost too much blood to heal from this. He could feel the life draining out of him.

He couldn’t spare Steve that pain.

But Tony would use his very last breath to make this _better._ If it was all he could do, if it took the last of his strength, he would try to give Steve _something_ to hold on to.

Tony took a deep breath that hurt his ribs and made his head swim. His vision darkened at the edges. His jaw felt so heavy, his lungs protested at the effort.

But he _made_ himself.

Using every ounce of resolve left in him, Tony lifted his head, and whispered,

“It’s okay.”

Steve’s grip tightened reflexively, his voice cracking as he pleaded, desperately, into the crook of Tony’s neck,

“ _No, no, no._ ”

Tony felt an entirely different pang of sadness at that.

He wished this weren’t so sudden and violent, at least.

That there could be just one more happy moment between them, before the end.

That there could have been some part of this that Steve could look back on, without remembering such horrible fear…

And then there was a nauseating jolt, as Steve laid Tony flat on the floor. An abrasive tug and a shock of cold air, as Steve peeled his bloodstained shirt away from his skin.

A hot, dull ache, as something pressed hard against the wound.

Tony could hear Steve talking to Bucky, like it was echoing from miles away.

_…it’s trying to heal…_

_…still bleeding?_

_…if he’s lost too much-_

_Tony_

_TONY_

“Tony!” Steve grabbed him by the shoulders, leaning close, “Tony, listen to me – you _have_ to drink. Please-”

Tony’s gut twisted, his face flushed with an urge to cry that he simply wasn’t strong enough to see through-

He wished Steve wouldn’t fight this.

It just wasted the last moments before the end, trying so frantically to avoid it.

He hated the thought of Steve putting so much of himself into a plan that couldn’t work.

If Steve could have known at the time that there was nothing more to be done, if he could have accepted this and just-

But he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t… That’s why Tony loved him so much.

And then the world lurched forward again, another disorientating roll of dizziness, as Steve pulled Tony’s dead weight up into a sitting position and pressed him close against his chest. Tony heard the distant sound of tearing fabric, as Steve ripped his shirt open in a desperate attempt to bear his neck. Tony groaned softly, pushing closer to Steve’s warm skin… he was so cold, all of a sudden…

“Please Tony,” Steve whispered again, pushing his wrist close to Tony’s mouth.

And Tony wanted to.

He was so desperate to survive this-

So desperate to help Steve-

Completely sure, for the first time in his life, that it would’ve been the right thing to do…

But he couldn’t.

Even has he was making that last-ditch attempt to part his lips, he knew-

He wasn’t strong enough for this.

Tony gave his head a very small, very heavy shake – the best he could manage, by now.

He felt Steve’s fingertips dip into his back as he let go of an anguished moan, like a stifled scream. Panicked and frustrated and pleading and _angry_ -

“ _Please_ don’t do this to me Tony, _please_ ,” he begged, his voice harsh and jagged. “ _Don’t_ tell me I don’t want this, that I’m better off without this – I’m _not_ , I know I’m not. I _know_ the only monstrous world is the one without you in it, please don’t make me live there, please don’t make me watch the person I love die, not like this, _please_ ”

“ _Steve_ …” Tony knew that wasn’t loud enough for Steve to have heard it. That there was no way he was going to be able to explain-

_It’s not that baby, please don’t think it’s that…_

Tony hated Steve thinking that he’d _chosen_ to leave him. That this was still part of the ridiculous mindset he’d subjected Steve to for the last few weeks-

_God, I was an idiot. Right to the very fucking end-_

If he could have _just_ told Steve that he wanted to – that it was simply too late. That it took power and mental capacity to drink from another person, that was all-

_He’ll spend the rest of his life thinking I just told him no_

And then Steve shifted, and tilted Tony’s head upwards to _make_ Tony look at him.

…And Tony could _swear_ that he could hear Steve’s voice in his head.

_Please don’t leave me Tony, please._

It took all of Tony’s strength to keep his eyes open. Oh, if he could have _just_ told him-

_I don’t want to leave you Steve – it’s just too late._

_It isn’t your fault._

_I’m so, so sorry._

…And it really, _really_ felt as though Steve could hear him.

Watching Steve’s face, it was like he was listening – like Tony could see him thinking about everything Tony was trying to tell him… Like he _understood_ all the things Tony couldn’t find the words for…

But then, reality was beginning to slip away from him, at this stage. His senses had started to float away from each other, the context and connections between them getting lost in the growing darkness…

The shapes and sounds and sensations around him didn’t feel the same anymore, they didn’t mean anything to him.

He lost a moment, in a flurry of light and noise and dismembered voices – he could hear Steve yelling, but not the words. He could feel Steve moving him… He could feel hands against his back…

Everything felt soft, and sleepy and… warm and cold, all at once…

…Like a dream…

“Tony, _open your eyes_ ,” Steve demanded.

…And Tony didn’t know if he’d managed to, or not.

…He still felt as though he was looking at a dream.

He watched Steve take a knife to his own wrist, his eyes fixed on Tony as he pressed the blade to his skin and sliced, lengthwise, opening a rapid stream of crimson red…

At least… Tony _thought_ he was looking at Steve…

But this was all so eerily and impossibly familiar – and so _clear_ , all of a sudden

It didn’t seem real

…It had been _exactly_ like this, when Obie did it.

This was the same giddy, lifeless feeling that had closed in on Tony that night.

Steve had the same posture, he held the knife the same way, he’d inflicted the exact same wound on himself.

…Tony remembered this moment.

 _This_ had been the most horrific part of the worst experience of Tony’s life, the part he could never bring himself to revisit, not even that night with Steve. The terrifying, disgusting moment when Obie had grabbed him by the back of his hair, and forced his wrist into Tony’s mouth, and barked at him,

 _You drink, or you die_.

Tony literally braced himself for it – he _really_ thought he was back there-

But it didn’t come.

Instead, Steve put his hand to the back of Tony’s head, still kind and gentle in spite of his panicked desperation.

He brought his wrist to Tony’s mouth carefully, mindful not to press to too hard against his lips.

It was _Steve_ that Tony could see, there where Obie would have been, Steve’s voice that whispered,

“Please Tony – I just want you to live.”

It was a genuinely spiritual moment.

Terrifying, simply because of the scale of it – like looking at the face of God.

An understanding that bloomed in him, outside of words-

_What if you could start from there?_

_What if you could start again?_

…It felt like being reborn.

_Choosing_ not to fight Steve the way he’d fought Obie –

Choosing to change this story.

This time, Tony opened his mouth willingly. This time he fought _for_ this, putting everything he had into taking that first little mouthful.

And it was hard,

And it hurt,

And it seemed to take so long,

But after an endless moment Tony felt that first drop of blood spread over his lifeless tongue-

And _Jesus_ , that was actually painful – his entire being _still_ tried to respond to that taste, tried to _force_ him up towards it, to take more of it, even though he was no where near capable of moving yet-

It hurt… But it helped.

It pushed him to suck weakly against Steve’s skin, to swallow that little mouthful despite the pain in his throat…

And again

And again

And then the third mouthful didn’t hurt quite so much, and there was a rush of shapeless elation as his body recognised a change.

His arm was still heavy when he lifted it – but he _could_. He placed it against Steve’s arm, pushing Steve’s wrist against his lips as he sucked harder-

A burst of blood filled his mouth and slid down his throat, a surge of adrenaline flooding him in its wake,

And again,

And again,

…He could hear Steve talking to him now.

He could understand the words,

“That’s it baby, keep drinking, it’s going to be okay, just keep going…”

So Tony swallowed again, and again, letting that feeling warm him through from the inside, the pain melting away from his limbs, his muscles loosening and lightening…

And then there was that instinct again, calm and solid and sure,

_That’s enough._

And Tony didn’t even know yet that it was enough for _him_ – but he knew that was enough for Steve.

He stopped, his lips still pressed firm to Steve’s skin as he swallowed that final mouthful, and then gently began to seal the wound.

Steve flinched when he realised what Tony was doing.

He went to pull away, and Tony knew it was to stop him from healing him, to keep the wound open, to make Tony drink more-

But Tony held his arm there – firmly.

He heard Steve let go of a little gasp, as he recognised how strong Tony’s grip was, how confidently he was moving now…

And then Tony looked up, and their eyes met, and for a second Tony thought he might be crushed under the sheer weight of this moment.

The love and happiness and hope in Steve’s expression.

The wave of gratitude and wonder and promise that overwhelmed Tony – to be alive, to have saved Steve that heartache-

To have the chance to do so many things.

To have relived that awful moment and changed it… To have _fixed_ it…

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve breathed, like he could hardly dare to believe.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tony nodded – surprised by how easy it was, so quickly…

And then he thought to consider where he was, what was going on around him.

He realised that it was Bucky’s palm pressed against his back, holding him in position so that Steve could help him. That Bucky’s other hand was still holding a bundle of bloodstained fabric to his hip-

Which would probably explain why Bucky was shirtless, now that Tony thought about it..

He watched as Bucky gingerly lifted the makeshift bandage. And then he felt Steve just dissolve in relief beside him, as they both recognised-

It wasn’t bleeding any more

It was healing.

Steve huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh or a sob, and just let his head fall into Tony’s hair.

“It’s okay Steve, everything’s okay,” Tony promised, sitting himself upright. He felt Bucky slip away from him, as he took his own weight-

And then let it fall into Steve, throwing his arms around him, burying his face into Steve’s neck.

“Jesus Tony,” Steve whispered, breathless and shaky and emotional. Tony lifted his head, one hand stroking up to cup Steve’s face, guiding Steve to look at him.

“I’ll never leave you Steve. I love you,” he told him, sincerely. “And I’m so sorry-”

“No, Tony-”

“No, Steve, I am,” Tony insisted. “I’ve had so many things wrong, and I’ve made so many mistakes. Not even just with you… But I’m going to change things, I am. And I’m sorry I’ve been screwing you around for weeks now, that I’ve not – I love you, and that’s all I care about, and I want to be with you, and things will be better, I promise.”

“I love you,” Steve breathed, pulling Tony in to kiss him.

Tony leant into it, parting his lips, letting his hand run roughly though Steve’s hair. A rush of pure, perfect joy overwhelmed him, as it finally hit him-

He was _alive_.

And he did love Steve, and everything _was_ going to be better-

And he _could_ kiss Steve. For the first time, he could kiss Steve without fighting the dread of what happened tomorrow – he could keep him.

This was real.

After a moment Steve had to break away and gasp for air, still holding Tony close, his hands caressing gently against Tony’s skin – like he was still trying to convince himself that Tony was really there.

And Tony grinned, and Steve breathed a little laugh, and whispered again,

“I love you.”

And then Tony heard the faintest little shuffle beside him, and remembered Bucky.

He glanced up just in time to see the sappy smile on Bucky’s face – before he spotted Tony and covered himself, somewhat awkwardly.

“So, uh, do we call the others now, or…?” He coughed, dropping his eyes.

“Oh! Shit! Yes,” Tony remembered, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I said I’d call as soon as I was with you…”

…Oh, yeah.

…Talking to people.

Tony didn’t know whether to be surprised by the resistance he suddenly felt. On the one hand, it was familiar – it was the instinct that would have made sense, at any other time in the last twenty years. But, on the other hand, there was the incongruous fact that he’d already _done_ it

…He had already done it, hadn’t he? That had all really happened… hadn’t it?

Tony remembered it all so clearly…but suddenly it didn’t make as much sense at it had…

_…I am actually outside right now._

And there was a brief cooling of disappointment then, at the idea that maybe all his newfound confidence had been a lie.

A sadness at the realisation that this epiphany wasn’t absolute or immovable – that the issues he’d managed to ignore today hadn’t actually disappeared…

A worry, that everything was going to feel really bad again, when he finished coming down from whatever this episode had been-

It felt like such a shame, for just a second.

Tony had _liked_ feeling that confident

He’d liked the idea of this one shining moment, this symbolic line between before and after, the thought that everything could be better now…

And suddenly the thought of talking to people was uneasy again,

And the idea that he was outside seemed… confusing, and ominous…

And _all_ the things he’d done today seemed so much more anxious and uncertain and complicated than they were at the time-

“Tony?” Steve prompted, gently.

“Hm?” Tony snapped out of his spiral, and glanced back at Steve…

Oh, but _that_ was still real…

That warmth and reassurance that came from Steve, that confidence in _him_ , that feeling that something about this was so very right…

Maybe… Maybe this was just the moment that Tony realised that it _was_ complicated.

After twenty years of trying to find _the_ answer, and dismissing any idea that even potentially had problems, and rewriting realities to fit a simple ideology… Maybe Tony had just figured out that this was inherently messy.

That _life_ was inherently messy.

And maybe his specific circumstances came with more challenges than most. Maybe there _were_ things he’d always have to be careful of, or compromise, or compensate for.

…But those were the facts of his life, so _maybe_ it was better to start working through them.

To accept that he did still have a lot of issues – but that maybe it was worth thinking about them.

To recognise that – _maybe_ – his reckless, emotional plan today hadn’t been the healthiest way to step out of his previous mindset… but it could still be good that he’d done it.

That this could be the _start_ of something better

…That complicated and considered – and _real_ – was better.

“Yeah, sorry… calling Natasha,” Tony breathed. Gearing himself up. Telling himself that this was just one thing, and he could do this-

He’d already done it once today-

And then Steve took the phone from him.

Not bossy, or demeaning, or controlling – kind, and calm, and considerate.

Tony’s ribs loosened, as a tension he hadn’t even been aware of left his body.

Yeah, okay. He was actually very grateful that he didn’t have to do just one more thing, today.

And deeply comforted by the thought of Steve taking that burden from him…

The idea of Steve _being there_ – being _his_.

Steve brought Tony close to his chest again as he made the call, his hand stroking affectionately though Tony’s hair as he relayed a brief synopsis to Natasha.

Tony waited until he heard Steve hang up, before he looked over at Bucky again.

“Thank you,” he said, gesturing to the bloodstained T-shirt on the floor beside him. Bucky just frowned and shook his head.

“No, thank _you_ ,” he corrected – and then unthinkingly glanced at the body at the other end of the room. Tony looked over.

…Oh yeah.

…He’d just killed someone.

“You okay?” Steve asked softly.

“Yeah…” Tony replied automatically, while he was still thinking about it.

He had just recognised what a big thing it was, to have taken a life

He was somewhat anxious, as he thought back to it – fearful that he’d suddenly recognise an irrational, emotional response. In case he was about to realise that he’d just unfairly and indefensibly murdered someone…

But he didn’t.

He felt uncomfortable about it, regretful even – but not _guilty_.

He _knew_ that, in the moment, he’d really believed it was the only way to save Bucky’s life – that his motives were entirely reasonable…

And, thinking about it now, he was still sure it was the right thing to do.

That was reassuring.

And even more reassuring was the realisation that… it would have been very different, if he’d killed Jesse.

Or even the guard who’d shot him.

If he _had_ just pushed Pepper down, and stolen her keys.

…Not that he was _entirely_ comfortable with all of his actions, now that he had a chance to think about them.

…There were certainly things he would’ve done differently, if he had to do it again.

But still, it was comforting to think that – even at his most panicked and inexperienced and reckless – there were still lines he wouldn’t cross. Things that would never have occurred to him, even when he thought he had put _everything_ aside for Steve.

Apparently, when put to the ultimate test, Tony still hadn’t thought of just shooting his way down to the basement.

…Which, okay, sounded like a ridiculous thing to be reassured by.

But it mattered to him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he smiled – meaning it, this time. Steve smiled back, and kissed his forehead, and brought Tony’s head to rest on his shoulder again.

“Good,” he whispered. There was a soft pause, as Steve exhaled slowly, and Tony settled against his chest. And then Steve went on, quietly, “as soon as we’re done here, I’ll take you home.”

Tony let the warmth of that sink through his skin, almost getting carried away with the daydream of it-

But then another idea occurred to him.

“Actually, there are a few things I need to do first,” he said. He was pleased that Steve simply raised his eyebrows, intrigued rather than hurt or concerned. “I, uh… Tell you what, I’ll get Rhodey to drive me home, and I’ll talk to him, and Pepper, and… get a few things sorted. And you can get whatever medical checks and incident reports out of the way. And then you can come over tonight and we can talk properly. About everything. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve grinned, like he was genuinely delighted. “Yeah, that’s good.”

And then the door at the back of the room burst open, and all three of them flinched up to see Sam, storming across the office floor.

Immediately, it was clear that his eyes were fixed on Bucky-

Widening in alarm, as he saw the various streaks and splatters of other people’s blood.

“None of it’s mine,” Bucky rushed to assure him, palms held up as though in surrender. “I’m fine-”

“What the hell happened?” Sam demanded-

And then threw his arms around Bucky before he had the chance to answer.

Tony could just about make out the muffled ‘ _are you alright’_ that Sam had spoken directly against Bucky’s skin. The faint sound of Bucky whispering reassurances, one hand going to the back of Sam’s neck, almost hesitantly.

And then Sam stepped back to look into Bucky’s eyes, a smile tugging gently at the corner of his lips as he gave his head a tiny little shake, _what am I going to do with you?_

And then he seemed to centre himself a bit, and looked over to Steve and Tony.

“Sorry – are you two okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Steve grinned, glancing over Sam’s head to shoot Bucky a look that only they would understand. Sam didn’t see it – he was too busy noticing the pool of blood that Tony was lying in.

“Did you get shot?” He enquired, staring at the wound – which was now completely scabbed over.

“Only a little bit,” Tony smiled.

Once again, he found that actually talking to people was no where near as terrifying as the very thought of it.

Sam laughed, and then looked at Steve, gesturing subtly to Tony, _this guy, eh?_

And then he glanced back at Bucky, pinching back a different sort of smile when he said,

“Nat says to get your asses outside before she has to come in and get you – and I know none of you want that.”

By now, Tony felt strong enough to be the one to help Steve to his feet. He knew he’d have to drink again when he got home, that it would take a little while for his body to heal every trace of this injury-

But it would.

If it had what it needed, it could survive damn near anything.

And he knew… there _was_ a lot he had to do, when he got home – and not just tonight. There were so many things he’d have to think about, so much work he’d have to do, so many changes he’d have to make. And it was going to be painful, and confusing, and imperfect. And it was going to take a _long_ while before he could really heal from all the things he’d been through-

But he would.

If he just accepted the support that was already there for him, he was sure he could do damn near anything.

And, apparently, that started with him being nervous about talking to a group of people that he’d been barking orders at fifteen minutes ago.

But, right now, that seemed… okay.

It would be uncomfortable, and it would be uncertain – but he _could_ do it.

And, when he got through this time, maybe he could think about it, and work through it, and maybe next time it would be _better_.

Maybe it was the effects of Steve’s blood.

Maybe it was the surge of adrenaline that came after a near-death experience.

Maybe this was just a good moment.

But whatever it was, Tony really felt like things were going to be okay-

And then he felt Steve take his hand, protective and affectionate and reassuring.

 _His_ Steve.

…But really, _his Steve_.

Tony grinned, and gave Steve’s hand a little squeeze, and realised,

This _was_ going to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific details for the injury/violence in this chapter-  
> Tony gets shot, and nearly dies. There is a lot of Tony's emotional reaction to this, as well as how it physically feels to get weaker, although the actual wound/injury is not described in detail - there are, however, a lot of mentions of blood.  
> Tony shoots Dr Stape, and it's made clear that the shot basically destroys the body - again, the actual anatomics are not described in detail, but there are a few general references to the damage done.  
> Steve cuts his wrist open in order to feed Tony the blood he needs. It's only a two line description, but the injury and weapon ARE described. Steve's motivations are very clearly defined as not being related to self harm in any way.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PENULTIMATE CHAPTER! (with the possibility of a short epilogue thereafter, because I can never help myself...)  
> In terms of managing expectations here - there is no porn in this update. This is all hardcore emotional analysis and communication-  
> The final update is basically just porn. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

Tony’s heart finally stopped beating when they were halfway up the stairs.

There was the briefest flicker of panic, when he first caught sight of the daylight… which expanded into a gently buzzing nothingness, as he stepped out into the carpark. Like a comfortable buffer of numbness, which put his surroundings at a distance and softened the voices around him.

The moments between the building and the car seemed to melt past him – like when he read a whole page of text without taking any of it in. He vaguely knew to be relieved that the Avengers were mostly preoccupied with the hordes of fleeing employees. He hadn’t had to make much in the way of conversation…

Or, if he had, he didn’t remember it.

Tony didn’t really come back into himself until half way through the ride home… when he seemed to suddenly find himself on the back seat of the car, semi-shielding himself from the sunlight, his hand resting over the still-tender skin where the bullet wound once was…

“You okay?” Rhodey enquired casually, glancing up at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Hm? Oh, yeah… I think so…” Tony mused. “Well, I think I’m a lot of things, at the moment…”

Rhodey hummed a good-natured smile at that, setting a casual, friendly sort of tone for the question that followed.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

And Tony was suddenly overwhelmed by all the things he wanted to say to Rhodey – and by all the parts of it he hadn’t worked out yet, and all the things he didn’t know how to describe-

He had to force himself to pause. To remind himself,

_It doesn’t all have to be right now_

_And it doesn’t all have to be perfect, or permanent._

_Just think about one thing at a time._

So, for no other reason than it was the ‘one thing’ that came to him first, Tony said,

“I’m sorry about the ride over here.”

Rhodey huffed a laugh at that.

“I don’t even know why I’m laughing,” he conceded. “That was the most – _ridiculous_ thing you’ve ever done. And that’s saying something.”

“Well, actually, I’m not sure it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve done _today_ ,” Tony corrected. “But that’s not really the point.”

“…I didn’t get much of a debrief, but the way I heard it, if you’d got there half a second later they’d both be dead,” Rhodey offered, kindly.

“That’s not really the point either,” Tony smiled. “I mean, if I’d driven into a stop sign at a hundred and ten miles per hour, all four of us would be dead, wouldn’t we?”

“But you didn’t, and no one is dead,” Rhodey reminded him.

_Well, one guy is dead_

_And at least one more is probably traumatised to the point of needing therapy…_

“…I don’t really know how I feel about everything that just happened,” Tony admitted. “And I also don’t really know what I _think_ about it all… which I think is a whole other thing… And I think there are parts I do feel bad for… Even though, honestly, I’m still pleased it turned out like this. I mean, if I’m really honest – if you offered me the chance the go back and change something, _today_ … I don’t know if I would. Just because… it really was half a second. And I’d be scared to death that if I changed something… that I’d be left with something I couldn’t put right…” He sighed, and glanced up at Rhodey. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry, and that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it differently next time. And – does this make any sense at all?”

“Yeah, it does,” Rhodey smiled, sincerely.

“Well, that’s mostly luck,” Tony huffed. “I’m not really sure what the hell I’m talking about, right now.”

“I gotta be honest with you – this is the most sense you’ve made in twenty years,” Rhodey deadpanned. Or maybe he just meant it.

“Yeah… Um, also… I’m basically sorry for the whole of the last twenty years,” Tony sighed.

“Well, okay, _now_ you’re talking bullshit,” Rhodey frowned.

“Well, no – I just don’t know how to say any of this yet,” Tony clarified. “And I will think about it, and figure this out, and do this better, I promise. But, what I mean right now is…”

Tony paused, and glanced out the window, and thought of all the world on the other side of it… all those big ideas, all those options, all those consequences. The chances he’d missed, and the chances he’d have to _make_ , and…

And then he shook his head, and pulled himself back to what he meant _right now_.

“I just mean – I _do_ know that a lot of this is exactly what you’ve been telling me for twenty years,” Tony accepted. “And I know it must be pretty annoying to hear me suddenly telling _you_ about all this… and… I don’t know if you’re thinking that I listened to all this from Steve, and not you, or if you’re wondering why I’m prepared to go outside for a guy I just met, and not you…”

And he saw the wry smile that had crept onto Rhodey’s face, the knowing expression in his eyes – Tony knew that Rhodey had an answer to that.

But Tony decided to push on with this first. For whatever reason, it felt important that he did this bit _right now_. A lot of it would have to wait – _should_ probably wait, until Tony had a chance to think it all through. But there were some things he just had to get out there, in whatever inarticulate, uncertain form…

Before tonight.

 _Before_ he saw Steve again.

“And… I can’t lie, part of it _is_ Steve. I mean, there’s no point in pretending I … I mean, him being special _is_ part of this, and the fact that I love him, and the _way_ I love him…” Tony went on, carefully – pleased by the way Rhodey’s smile warmed, as he spoke. “I don’t think this would’ve happened if it weren’t for him… But I _know_ , none of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. Or Pepper…”

And Tony took a moment to wince, thinking of how he was going to say all of this to her…

 _One thing at a time_.

“I _know_ that there’s no way I’d still be here to figure any of this out, if it weren’t for you two,” Tony went on. “That’s just for a start. I’d be dead without you, both of you, and I know it. And … okay, I think there _is_ a… a _vampire_ part of this whole thing with Steve. Something that’s just… different, and I don’t really know how that works yet… And I know I could make that sound really dramatic and… fairy-tale…ish,” he frowned, trying to find the right words for it.

“So, this _is_ like a… blood bond, kind of thing?” Rhodey enquired, gently. Like he’d been waiting for Tony to mention it, so that he could ask.

“Well, that’s the thing – _kind of_ ,” Tony offered, apologetically. “I mean, I think there _is_ an actual link between us… I think we’ve…kind of… _changed each other_ , or something… And maybe that is what pushed me to leave the house today… But I don’t think that means it’s like, _he alone was destined to save me,_ or anything. I don’t think Steve _could_ have just walked into my life at any time in the last twenty years, and this all happened. And, I mean, it wasn’t like Steve could have walked into my life at all, if Pepper hadn’t fought so hard for it,” Tony remembered with a self-depreciating laugh. “And I never would have invited him back if it weren’t for you oh-so-carefully pushing me into it… But it’s more than that. I don’t know if I would even have been in the right place to feel this for him – or how he could possibly have liked me, if I was still like I was at 21… Or even if this feeling would have been enough, if it wasn’t for all the other stuff I had to fall back on…” Tony swallowed hard, surprised by how _physically_ exhausting this was.

Rhodey just smiled at him again, _no, go on_.

“And I know that all the things I’ve been scared of for twenty years are still there,” Tony groaned. “And, to be honest, I’m still worried about the risk to you and Pepper, and Steve, and the Avengers, and the company… and I still don’t know what the hell I’d go outside and _do_ , the whole thing is still…” he just gestured vaguely to his head, _mind blown_. “It’s not like this thing with Steve suddenly makes all that disappear. And Steve is only part of the reason I’m finally… _realising,_ that it’s still ridiculous to live like this. Even if all of that is true. Maybe my life is just complicated, but that doesn’t mean I can run from it. I have to work it out. And I _know_ you’ve said those exact words to me before now. A lot of what I’m rethinking is the stuff you’ve told me. I just think… it took me two decades, and _a lot_ of very patient support, and the right push, to get me here. And _here_ is where I can think about the stuff you’ve taught me, and the stuff Pepper taught me… and Bucky, actually… _and_ whatever I found with Steve… and maybe just _try_. I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be outside right now if it weren’t for Steve… and I don’t think I’d be outside right now if it weren’t for you. I don’t think there’d be a me for Steve to save, and if there was I don’t think he could have, so… I think that’s roughly what I’m trying to say,” Tony surrendered, accepting that those were all the words he had right now.

And they weren’t a perfect articulation of his thoughts.

And he still wasn’t sure how his thoughts would shift, in time.

But they seemed to cover what he’d needed them to – he _felt_ better, for having said them.

“So, you know, I’ll have another go at all that when I’m not… recently shot, and everything…” he joked, as a way of winding it up.

“You didn’t do so bad,” Rhodey assured him, quietly – but Tony could still hear the emotion in it.

And then another thought occurred to him. Something that probably didn’t have to be _right now_ … but he _did_ know it now.

And it was important.

So, why not?

“And I, uh, I know the drive over here might make you wonder about this,” Tony cringed. “But, whatever this thing is with Steve, it isn’t something you have to be… _scared of_ , or whatever. I mean, I still haven’t worked out what it is or how it affects me or how much control I can have over it – and, yeah, I think it’s the reason I was… _irresponsible_ , today… But, whatever else it might make me think or feel or… do… This is never going to make me do anything I thought would hurt you. I mean, clearly, I have to work on _thinking_ , at all, in the first place…” Wow, this has all seemed much more coherent before he started saying it out loud.

“Well, maybe it’s just because I’m naive that I took all that for granted,” Rhodey shrugged, nonchalantly. “And, _honestly_ , today I looked at you and thought, _he’s panicking, he’s not thinking straight, there’s every chance he’s going to do something really dumb right now…_ Just like I used to worry about you doing dumb things before there was Steve. Before you were a vampire, even. But I’d never think you were going to hurt me, or screw me over, just because you weren’t thinking straight – then or now.” And then he made a point of turning in his seat, so that he could look Tony right in the eye when he told him.

“I have _never_ been afraid of you, Tony. I’ve always known who you were, and what I could trust you with – whatever particular crisis you happened to be in the middle of. Vampire stuff or not. And, honestly… I’m just thinking that it looks like I was right.”

The sudden lump in Tony’s throat took him by surprise.

He did his best to swallow it down, and then he managed a little nod.

“Thank you,” he whispered – and Rhodey rolled his eyes at that response, which struck Tony as just perfect.

And then, belatedly, Tony realised that Rhodey _could_ turn around to have this conversation with him – because they’d actually just pulled into the parking space in front of his house.

Tony felt his stomach dip, which he assumed was just anxiety at the thought of facing Pepper…

…It _wasn’t_ an anxiety about going back inside… was it?

_Wow, the mind is a weird, weird thing…_

“You want to come in for a while?” Tony asked.

“…You that scared of what Pepper is going to say?” Rhodey mocked.

“No – well, _yes_ , obviously,” Tony huffed. “But no, it’s just… There’s some stuff I want to talk to both of you about, that’s all.”

“Yeah, of course,” Rhodey replied, already unfastening his seatbelt. And then he paused, and turned to look at Tony again. “I mean, are you sure you’re up for this right now? It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

Tony grinned at that, and nodded.

“Yeah, I am. Actually… there’s some stuff I kind of want to do now…”

_Before I see Steve again…_

“I, uh, I _do_ know that this is going to be a long term thing, and that there’s a lot of stuff I’ll have to do tomorrow… and the next day, and the next day…” Tony explained, almost talking to himself. “But… I don’t know… _something_ changes today. And I just… want you guys to be there from the start of it, I guess.”

Rhodey gave a little shrug at that, like he didn’t really get it but was happy to go along with it, and finally got out of the car – sprinting a few steps ahead of Tony, so that he could open the door for him. Tony was glad of that little gesture. Not that the sunlight was actually _bothering_ him yet… but he was much more aware of it than he had been, and pleased he didn’t have to spend any time fumbling with the handle.

And pleased that Rhodey had thought of it, actually. That was a comfort in itself…

Tony heard a door slam three floors above him, the moment he walked into the hallway. And then the flutter of heels at the top of the landing-

Tony curled in on himself. Just like when he was a kid, waiting for his mom to come and tell him off.

He thought, idly, that this might be easier if he _had_ knocked Pepper down and stolen her keys. If he’d dragged _her_ along on a hundred-mile-per-hour car chase to a crime scene. If he’d had something simple to apologise for, as a way of getting started.

But he wasn’t sorry for running to Steve’s rescue today.

And he wasn’t sorry that Steve had to be the priority, today.

His apologies to Pepper all started long before that. Tony was sorry for the _way_ he’d talked to her, and the way he’d slotted her out of the situation, and the confusion she would’ve felt at his behaviour… and, really, those were all things that he should have fixed a long time ago. Things that wouldn’t have happened, if Tony had let her be a _part_ of his life, and not a just a party to it. If it hadn’t taken him this long to ask himself what sort of a friend he really was to _her_.

…That was a far more nebulous, overwhelming sentiment than ‘I’m sorry I stole your car’.

“Try leading with, _so I saved Steve’s life_ ,” Rhodey suggested, in a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s harder to yell at.”

Tony breathed a little laugh… and glanced down at the gauntlet…

And it occurred to him-

_Well, actually, I saved Bucky’s life._

And, okay, Tony knew that Steve was the only reason he’d been there in the first place. That he’d basically forgotten Bucky even existed, for large parts of the day – which was one of the things Tony planned to feel bad for, when he got around to it.

And, maybe, if he’d had more than a second to process the situation, it would have occurred to Tony that he had to save Bucky for _Steve_. Thinking about it now, it was obvious that Steve would be devastated if anything happened to Bucky, and that Tony _would_ risk his life simply to spare Steve that pain…

But Tony hadn’t been thinking about that, at the time.

Tony remembered that moment well enough to be entirely sure-

 _That_ choice wasn’t about his commitment to Steve.

That one moment really hadn’t been a vampire thing.

Tony _knew_ that was an entirely human reaction. That impulse people have to stop a stranger from falling, the push that throws someone in front of a friend before they even think about it – the immediate, panicked response to seeing someone in trouble and knowing that the answer was simply, _no_

…It hadn’t even been his strength as a vampire that allowed him to intervene.

 _That_ action had all been down to this piece of technology… that he designed all alone in his workshop, and built with his own two hands… Thinking it would one day be used by the sort of person who stepped in a saved lives, for no other reason than they needed saving…

He’d made this for an Avenger…

_And yet this is what you made it for-_

But, before he could get too carried away with that line of thought, Pepper appeared in the hallway in a flurry of arms and agitated noises.

“What the hell just happened?” She demanded, clearly more concerned than angry.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said immediately, throwing both hands up in surrender.

“Is that _your_ blood?” Pepper exclaimed, when she was close enough to recognise the dark stains on his clothes.

“Some of it,” Tony admitted, watching her eyes widen in alarm. “But I’m okay-”

“What the hell happened?” She asked again, looking him up and down.

Tony let go of a heavy breath.

“…Do you still want to have that cup of tea?” He suggested.

*

Steve pulled up in front of Tony’s house just after ten that evening, so excited that he could barely sit still, every part of his very being screaming that he should _go to him_ -

But Steve forced himself to pause.

He made himself wait there, for just a moment…

So that he could take a deep breath, and recentre himself.

So that he could organise his thoughts.

…So that he could make a memory of this.

There was something wonderful about this giddy desperation. It had a place in this amazing story, it gave yet another layer of meaning to all the moments that came before and after.

Steve didn’t want to rush through any of them.

He wanted to feel that happiness, that freedom, that thrill of anticipation. He wanted to remember every single minute of this day, and all the threads between them.

So, he took the time to think back over everything.

He thought of himself outside this house on so many other nights, racked by nerves or self-doubt, making endless deals with whatever deity would listen to him – _please let tonight go well, please say I’ve not ruined things, please say he’ll want to see me again…_

He thought of all those days he’d spent anxiously glancing at his phone, rehearsing all the things he could say to Tony and thinking of all the ways he might be able to help and worrying about all the mistakes he might’ve made…

He thought of the first time he made Tony laugh, and the first time Tony kissed him, and the first time Tony drank his blood… Steve thought of all the hopes and fear he’d felt in those moments.

He thought of that afternoon – Tony _coming to his rescue._ Steve accepted, dreamily, that he wasn’t going to get his head around that any time soon. How beautiful and powerful Tony had looked in that moment. How brave Tony had to be, about _everything_ , to get there. How loved and protected and special Steve felt – really, to his soul, _felt_ – when he saw Tony standing there… A more than human feeling, like his body understood what this connection really was.

And Steve even went back to those awful, endless moments when he thought that Tony was dying. He remembered every fear and plea and promise that went through his mind, he let himself recall the injustice and the pain and the grief…

He didn’t mind feeling all of that, now.

There _had_ been a few minutes, back at the tower, when the trauma of the afternoon had hit him – all at once, and seemingly out of nowhere.

After all the medical checks and the mission reports and the trying-to-be subtle enquiries from the team, when Steve had gone back to his room to shower and change. He’d been grinning as he closed his bedroom door. Possibly humming to himself as he pulled his bloodstained shirt over his head, happily lost in shapeless ideas of just how good everything was…

And then he’d glanced at his own wrist, and it had just _gutted_ him-

_Tony was dying, right there in my arms…_

With that, Steve had suddenly found himself coming to sit on the floor with a bump, tears already sliding down his face, his breath hitching uncomfortably in his throat.

_Oh God, if he’d died-_

_If he hadn’t been strong enough to drink-_

_If he’d just closed his eyes and just… not existed anymore-_

And then it was like a dam had burst, as all the awful fears from today came crowding in on him-

_If Stape had just shot Bucky in the head, right in front of me-_

_If Bucky had died to stop Stape from taking my blood-_

_If someone had taken my blood-_

For a few moments, Steve could only sit there and sob, and try to breathe, and let all these horrible thoughts wash through him…

It was an oddly pleasant experience.

It felt like a physical release, rather than an emotional breakdown. There was a purity to the catharsis of it, a simplicity to it…

And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, Steve had felt himself coming to a sniffling, trembling stop. His head buzzed with a strange feeling of afterglow, his body more relaxed than it had been when he first broke down… And he’d realised-

This was the first time there had _only_ been the trauma to deal with.

Usually, there were all sorts of horrible consequences and compromises left in the wake of his worse experiences… But there was nothing left to panic about, this time. No reason to swallow down his emotions, no ongoing catastrophe he had to focus on. There had been no terrible consequences, no loss. There was nothing for him to sit there and grieve, no unanswerable questions of how he was going to carry on.

…Which meant he _could_ shut down, and cry, and let go of all those awful feelings.

And then had come the truly novel experience of feeling better – because everything _was_ actually better.

That expanding joy as he realised… all the things he would have wished for – all the things he _usually_ wished for – had all really happened.

…And more.

And Steve didn’t know whether any of that would find its way into his cycle of recurring nightmares, or if there was still more to hit him, or whether it would be as easy to get over next time…

But, for now, thinking about all the horrible things that might’ve happened just made Steve even more excited about how things had actually worked out.

He smiled to himself and stepped out of the car.

The front door opened for him as soon as he reached it, which startled him somewhat – although in a very nice way. He stepped into the hallway and breathed in the now familiar smell of Tony’s house-

And then Tony appeared at the top of the stairs, like a burst of light.

He just looked so much like all of the things that Steve loved about him – that spark of genius, that childlike playfulness, that irrepressible spirit… all in that one beautiful smile.

And then Tony bounded down the stairs to meet him, and threw his arms around Steve’s neck, and let Steve guide him up into a warm, unhurried kiss…

Steve resolved to make a memory of this perfect moment too.

Eventually Tony broke away, pulling back just enough to look up at Steve, his arms still draped around Steve’s shoulders.

“Hi,” he giggled.

“Hi,” Steve grinned, stroking his hands up along Tony’s back. Telling himself, _he’s real, he’s really here, he really is this wonderful-_

_He’s really mine._

Steve found himself listing his blessings, in a futile attempt to fit them all in his head-

Having someone to love in the way he’d always wanted; knowing that there was an alternative to the lost and lonely life he’d resigned himself to.

Finding someone more beautiful and brilliant and brave than anything he’d ever dreamed up. Discovering that they could share a connection deeper and more powerful than anything Steve could’ve imagined.

Thinking that, _at long last_ , after all these months of anxiety and doubt, after all the endless nights of impossible questions and deals with himself – it was finally going to happen.

…They were finally going to _talk_.

“C’mon,” Tony smiled, giving Steve’s hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go and sit down.”

Steve could only grin, and follow Tony’s lead.

Jesus, he actually felt light on his feet. And slightly dizzy, and a little breathless, and – all those things they talked about in classic romances. Steve hadn’t thought that people _really_ felt this way-

He never thought _he’d_ get to feel this way.

By the time they reached Tony’s living room, Steve was so carried away with it that he could’ve just pulled Tony into his arms and kissed him again – just for something to _do_ with this incredible abundance of feeling.

The only reason he didn’t was because he so much wanted to have this conversation. More than anything. _This_ was the closeness Steve truly coveted, the longing that had been there no matter what else they shared.

Steve wanted to _know_ Tony, to understand Tony.

Steve wanted to be a part of Tony’s life. To help him and support him, to learn from him and experience things with him and build something _together_.

He wanted to stop wondering how Tony felt, and second-guessing everything he did, and planning a thousand contingencies for every move he made…

Steve wanted Tony to know how _he_ felt. For them to finally be speaking the same language, working towards the same thing.

Steve wanted to be _with_ him. To be his.

He wanted to hear Tony _say_ it.

So, happily, Steve sat down at one end of one of the plush, cream couches. Tony sat down at the other end, smiling shyly, visibly collecting up everything he had to say.

Steve waited.

“So, the easy stuff first, I guess,” Tony laughed. “I love you. And I fell in love with you just the same as I would’ve when I was human, and for all the same reasons. Because you are sweet, and brave, and thoughtful, and… so many things. I _know_ that part. And… Okay, I _don’t_ know whether this other thing, this vampire thing, is _because_ I love you, or if its because of your blood, or some entirely separate… vampire… imprinting, thing, that just so happened to work out really well for me. I don’t have the data to tell you where that other thing comes from. But I do know that it’s there now. Explaining it is going to take some work. But _knowing_ it is easy… And I know that I’m going to love you, and look out for you, for the rest of your life – which isn’t as creepy as I just made it sound, I swear,” Tony cut himself off with a frown. Steve laughed, but before he could reassure him, Tony carried on, “I know what you’re going to say, but it’s important that I say this anyway – if you told me that you wanted nothing to do with this anymore, and you never wanted to see me again… It’d break my heart, and it wouldn’t stop me looking out for you, but I’d listen to you. I appreciate there are parts of this that might be… different, and, you know, complicated… But there’s no reason in any of this for me to be a controlling, abusive bastard. Your needs as a human being aren’t less important than what I am as a vampire, and you’ve every right to expect all those human considerations… whatever else we’re doing. And I never want you to be with me – or to do _anything_ with me – because you think you have to. Not ever.” 

Steve felt a smile warm through his chest – because he knew how important all of that was _for Tony_. Because it was so nice to hear Tony talk about himself in this way, to think that Tony now saw himself as separate from monsters like Obadiah Stane.

And of course, it _was_ nice to hear Tony say all the right things at the start-

But Steve had never actually been worried about any of this.

Partly because he did trust Tony, and it never would’ve occurred to him that Tony would try to corrupt or control him. And partly because he wanted nothing more than to be with Tony anyway.

“So, yeah, whatever happens, I’m going to be here, loving you and doing whatever I can to make your life better, even if I’ve got to do it from a distance…” Tony summarised, self-consciously. And then he gathered himself, taking a little breath and setting his shoulders before he added, “but, honestly, I don’t want to do it at a distance.”

Steve felt his smile break into a full-on grin, subconsciously wrapping his arms around himself because he wanted to throw them around Tony-

But he didn’t want to interrupt him.

“And I still don’t know what sort of boyfriend I could possibly be,” Tony went on – pausing to smile at the way Steve’s face lit up when he used that word. “I mean, even before you get into the vampire stuff… I haven’t been outside this house in twenty years. I keep weird schedules and I have no idea how to take care of myself and I have a whole host of family issues that we haven’t even gotten into yet… And I want to try, with all of that. I want to do better for you, and be the best partner to you that I can be… But I also want to do better for me. Because I _do_ want to live differently, and think differently to this… But it’s still going to be hard, and, you know, probably more hassle than anyone else you could date.”

“It’s not a hassle if it’s what I _want_ to do,” Steve assured him. “And being there to support you, even at the hardest times, is exactly what I want to do, more than anything else. And I would rather have any relationship with you, whatever it looked like, than settle for any other life.”

Tony smiled – and then pinched his lips, and dropped his eyes for a second, obviously overwhelmed. He swallowed hard before he looked up again, his voice just a little bit lighter when he carried on,

“But I’m not just asking if you want to be my boyfriend. I mean, I want that too… and, honestly, I think we have to believe that can work before there can be anything more… But I also think that… this is _already_ something more. And if we’re going to be together, this is going to be a part of it,” he sighed, his tone getting more serious as he spoke. “And what I want is to be bonded to you. To drink from you, and only you, and share that possibly supernatural connection that comes with it… But I have to know that you really know what that means, and that it’s what you really want.”

“It’s all I want,” Steve whispered, his throat tight with emotion.

“You know that means we can’t grow old together,” Tony reminded him. “We can’t have kids, we can’t have daytime BBQs with the neighbours.”

“I know,” Steve nodded. “But the truth is… I realised a long time ago that my life might not look exactly like a Hallmark Holiday Special – and I mean before the serum, even. I was never someone who could take a certain life for granted, or had my heart set of one type of future… I mean, I knew I wanted to serve my country, and I knew I wanted to fall in love – but I never cared much how I got there, or what it looked like,” a faint blush ran up Steve’s neck as he remembered himself in a poorly fitted wool uniform, selling war bonds to the tune of _Star Spangled Man With A Plan._ He wondered if Tony had seen any of the really early performances-

But hey, at least they proved that Steve was prepared to roll with whatever life threw at him.

“And then a few years later I was an enhanced super soldier with PTSD, in the year 2011 – so then I pretty much _knew_ that my life was going to look different to everyone else’s…” he carried on. “But I _never_ bought into this idea that a ‘good life’ looked a certain way, or ticked certain boxes, anyway. I always thought there were different ways to do things. And honestly, I’d never imagined that one of those ways would be as wonderful as this. I didn’t know there _was_ this,” he paused to smile at his former self, thinking how relieved and happy he’d have been, at _any_ stage in his life, if he’d only known. And then he glanced up at Tony again. “You know… you’re not the only one bringing their own issues into this.”

“I know,” Tony nodded, smiling kindly.

“And it’s not only you that missed the nineties completely, and doesn’t really know what’s going on in the world these days,” Steve laughed. “And it isn’t only you who’s dealing with a body that doesn’t work like anyone else’s, and all those questions about the future side effects and how it’ll react in new situations and… all of that… And, okay, this is going to sound… But if we’re being really honest?”

And Tony nodded again… And Steve actually felt like it was true. That he _could_ be completely honest, and trust that Tony would be listening to the real meaning in it. That he didn’t have to worry that one wrong phrase or inappropriate reaction would bring this whole thing crashing down around him. That nothing he said could stop Tony from loving him.

“I think maybe it’s better that it _isn’t_ just one of us having to… you know, work things out like this. And, obviously, I don’t mean I’m glad you have any of these issues,” Steve clarified, even though he knew he didn’t have to. “But… I don’t know, if I _had_ met someone who had lived a perfect life and was completely well adjusted and… Someone who _did_ fit perfectly in the world, and wanted all the ‘normal’ things from it and… all that…. Then I’d just be a burden on them. Then the only issues would be my issues, and our relationship would be about _them_ making sacrifices… And me having to fit into their world as much as possible, even though I _don’t_ fit… I’m sorry, I’m not sure this is coming out how I mean it-”

“No, I get it,” Tony smiled, sincerely. “I mean… I’ve kind of thought a similar thing. And, you know, then felt guilty about it, just like this. But, I think what I mean is… I don’t know, they say you should be with someone who has similar life experience, right?”

And again Steve laughed, thinking of how many times he’d though that exact same thing – and how bitter he’d always been about it. How he’d simply taken for granted that he would never find that person.

And then he remembered something he’d thought of earlier in the evening. Something he _wanted_ to say to Tony.

“You know, one of the things I’ve thought about all this is that… in some ways, it makes me more vulnerable,” he said, carefully. “There was a moment, back at that warehouse, when I was trying to think of ways to stop them from taking my blood… And I thought of the power they had over me now, that fear I have now that I didn’t have before. A way they had to hurt me, that wouldn’t have hurt me at all, a few weeks ago… And I think I actually like that,” he confessed, to himself as much as to Tony. “I don’t know, I think I figured out recently that ‘not having weaknesses’ really just means not caring about anything. Telling yourself you’ll survive any loss and get through every struggle, all on your own if you have to… it just means you don’t really have anything that matters that much. That… Actually, you have to like yourself, and think you matter as a person, to think your fears and priorities have a value, that they can be taken into account. And when you say they _don’t_ , that _you’re_ above emotions or preferences… I think maybe I’ve been making myself smaller, all this time I’ve trying to be bigger than my humanity. I think I’ve just ended up cutting parts of myself out. And – wow, this is getting to be a deeper thought that I planned on,” Steve cut himself off with a self-conscious laugh. And then he collected himself again, and sat forward so that he could tell Tony, seriously,

“I know this means opening myself up, in a whole new way. And I know it means giving more of myself than I knew I had to give, and I know it means taking a lot of faith and some on hope and taking a risk… I’ve made that choice before. When I took the serum, when I brought down SHIELD… I know what it is, to take a risk. And, in my – you have to admit, extensive – experience of weighing up impossible, life changing decisions… Sometimes you’ve got to face the fact that the risk of missing out, of doing nothing, is so much worse. That you’re always going to regret doing nothing, more than whatever crazy thing you’re about to do… So, yeah, I know there are some unknowns, and I’m taking some stuff on faith… But I can honestly say I have never been as sure about anything, or as excited about anything, as I am about this,” and he reached forward and took Tony’s hand. “I _want_ to let this make me vulnerable. It’s not just that I’m _prepared_ to do it… I want to feel something, to care about something that much, to believe in something like that… I want the sort of thing it would hurt so much to lose, because that’s what makes it special to have it. And I know it won’t look like anyone else’s life… But I like the way it looks.”

For a moment they just stared at one another, and Steve wondered if he looked as moved and happy as Tony did… he felt it.

“So, that’s a yes, then,” Tony whispered, with a grin.

“Yes, that’s a yes,” Steve laughed. “It’s always been yes.”

And with that, Tony leant forward and pulled Steve into him – a little awkwardly, but neither of them cared. All that mattered was that Tony were right here, in his arms.

And his, _really_ his.

“Oh, Steve, I love you, I am going to love you for the rest of your life,” Tony promised. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, and happy, I-”

Was cut off when Steve kissed him, warm and playful and messy, his hands stroking roughly up along Tony’s back. Tony melted into it, smiling against Steve’s lips, his arms strong across Steve’s shoulders.

_Oh, he’s mine_

_He’s my boyfriend_

_I’m bonded to him-_

And then Tony broke away, and Steve found himself looking into those flawless dark eyes…

… _I’m bonded to him._

All those things he wanted so badly,

All those things he dreamed of doing,

All the things he thought he could never have…

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Tony whispered.

And Steve had never been as sure of anything as he was when he answered,

“Yes.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting a very short epilogue immediately after this, but, for all intents and purposes - IT'S FINISHED!  
> Honestly, I'm quite emotional.  
> Thank you all so, SO much for reading, and for your lovely feedback - I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed writing this, or how moved I've been by the response.  
> Thank you again to Betheflame for bidding on me, and for this awesome prompt - I just hope you like the end result!
> 
> Some NSFW content in this update. Like basically all of it. Enjoy!

By the time they reached the bedroom, Tony already felt different.

When he closed the door, and turned to look at Steve, Tony was overwhelmed by a surge of such pure, _primal_ love. A physical feeling, a simple, incorruptible feeling, beyond any string of complex thoughts and emotions that he’d been calling _love_ up until this point… Like it might be a whole other thing, that should have a completely different word.

And yes, there was that tug of connection, that fierce protective instinct, that abundance of affection –the human forms of love were all still there, all so much stronger than they had ever been…

But there was something else as well. Something new.

Even before Tony bit him, before they’d even touched… From the moment Steve had said yes. Like Tony’s body, his brain chemistry, had recognised that agreement. _Responded_ to it. It consumed Tony entirely, touching him in places he couldn’t find, subtly changing how everything looked and sounded and felt-

Steve was _his_.

And he was Steve’s.

And that made everything about the world brighter, and deeper, and… Real, in a way that even his real life wasn’t-

It wasn’t just something he felt… it was something he _was_.

When he stepped into Steve, Tony could feel more than just the warmth coming off of his skin. He could _feel_ the comfort, and safety, and goodness radiating from him… like something he would have been able to find in the dark, something he could have followed…

And when Tony leant up and kissed him…

There was the impossible softness of Steve’s lips, the taste of him, the strength Tony could feel resting gently in Steve’s arms – all so much more vivid, experienced through more powerful senses-

There was the rush of excitement, the thrill that ran up Tony’s spine and set his skin alight, more intense than it had ever been-

But there was _more_ than that.

Tony indulged in it for a moment, kissing Steve slowly, caressing his hands firmly over Steve’s back. He felt Steve soften into him, opening himself up to this. Tony could hear and feel and _understand_ every subtle little sign from him.

It wasn’t submission, exactly… It was trust. Complete, unwavering, unconditional trust. Like Steve had handed Tony his heart to hold.

…And it just felt _right_.

There was no fear of the responsibility, no shred of doubt that he could do this –

This was what Tony was meant to do-

What he was born to do…

He barely broke the kiss as he guided Steve over to the bed, climbing onto it and guiding Steve to follow him. He could feel Steve smiling against his lips. Then Tony pressed the lightest touch to Steve’s shoulder, and Steve complied immediately, lying back against the sheets and looking up at Tony with those perfect ocean blue eyes…

“I like you like this,” Tony mused, tracing a fingertip along Steve’s throat. “I like the idea of you spread out on clean, soft sheets…comfortable… rested…” He watched the shivers run along Steve’s skin as he spoke, the way those impossible eyelashes fluttered…

Those beautiful lips…

Tony crawled over him, so that he could kiss those lips again… and then his cheek, and then his jaw. He heard Steve’s breath catch, as he pressed a long, slow kiss to his throat. Tony could feel Steve’s blood rush to the surface, his own mouth watering in an immediate reaction to the heat of it-

_Not yet._

That same voice, that wasn’t really a voice at all. That _understanding_ that came from somewhere between his instincts and his cerebral functions, above his thoughts and at the root of all his basic impulses, all at once.

Tony _knew_ that Steve needed to be better prepared for this. Tony knew the natural order of this.

That knowledge clearly outranked any instinct to sink his teeth into Steve’s throat. It spoke over any neurotic overthinking there might have been.

_Go slowly_

_Make sure he’s ready._

So, instead, he trailed his kisses lower, moving slowly down to Steve’s collarbone, delighting in the way he moved against him. Tony ran a hand over the centre of Steve’s chest, pausing to feel Steve’s heart beating under his palm, before he began unbuttoning his shirt. Steve sighed, happily, and arched up into Tony’s touch. Tony felt a smile warm though him, right from his gut.

“You are so _good_ ,” he breathed, revelling in the freedom of simply speaking his thoughts. “So sweet, and kind, and earnest, and brave…”

He ran his hands over Steve’s chest, pushing his shirt over his shoulders, as Steve sat up just enough to help him, exactly in tune with Tony’s movement.

“You are everything that is wonderful about human beings, all the joy, and hope, and potential…” Tony enjoyed letting his mouth run away with him, realising as he went how much he _wanted_ to say all these things to Steve. “Everything about you is beautiful. Just looking at you, being with you, makes everything beautiful… safe, and happy, and _good_.”

He dropped his head again to kiss Steve’s chest, his hands still stroking slowly over his ribs.

“You are so strong…” Tony murmured close to his skin, peppering kisses along Steve’s shoulders in between endearments. “You’ve carried so much, so bravely…”

He heard Steve’s breath hitch again. He felt the kick in Steve’s chest, the immediate reaction to that sentiment, specifically. Tony knew how hard _this_ was for Steve-

How much he needed it.

Tony pressed himself up onto his arms, so that he could look Steve right in the eye when he carried on,

“You deserve to rest, Steve. You deserve to let go of all those burdens, to be safe and warm and happy, to feel good,” he whispered. Watching, entranced, as Steve listened to him. “You _do_ matter, and it matters what you want, and what you need – I _want_ to do all those things for you.”

“Tony,” Steve breathed, his voice fragile. His hands went to Tony’s waist, almost hesitantly-

Waiting for permission.

Tony smiled, and gave the smallest nod, and let Steve tug his shirt up over his head. And then he pressed himself close, wanting to feel Steve’s body against his, wanting to claim every inch of him-

Steve wrapped his arms tight around Tony, arching into him, parting his lips the second Tony kissed him again.

Tony could feel the outline of Steve’s cock, pressed hard against his thigh. He could feel the blood pumping hotter and faster under Steve’s skin. He could hear the little pleading notes in Steve’s breathing.

Tony kissed him harder, pressing his fingertips more firmly into Steve’s muscles, grinding into him deliberately. He let Steve writhe against him, allowing him to get himself more worked up-

But Tony wouldn’t be moved

He kept his frame locked and his shoulders held firm as he ducked his head to kiss Steve’s neck again, slower and deeper than before, sucking gently against his skin. Steve gave a low, keening moan, one hand grabbing roughly at the back of Tony’s hair, his head falling back against the pillows in a desperate attempt to offer himself up – but still, Tony kept to that same steady pace. He carried on sucking faint little bruises along Steve’s throat, his hands stroking up along Steve’s chest, seemingly unaffected by Steve’s increasingly frantic clawing-

And he _knew_ Steve liked that.

Tony knew the exact thrill this inspired in Steve, the specific, intoxicating freedom of it… Like Tony could feel it through him. As though he could hear it whispering straight from Steve’s subconscious – like his body was answering directly,

_You can do whatever you want to baby,_

_You can let go,_

_You aren’t responsible for this._

He switched to kissing the other side of Steve’s neck, teasing oh-so-gently with his teeth-

“ _Jesus, fuck, Tony- oh-”_ Steve hissed, pulling hard at Tony’s hair, forcing his entire body up against him-

God he was strong.

Tony loved the effort it took to hold that position. The burn in his muscles, the heat of exertion along his back… Things he hadn’t felt in so long. Things he hadn’t realised he missed. The feeling of finally pushing against his own limits, stretching into his _own_ strength.

He took his time, kissing all the way along the column of Steve’s throat, from the back of his ear down to the curve of his shoulder. Steve moaned and whined, clawing at him and grinding against him, adding a low roll of friction to all the sensations flooding through him.

Tony pushed himself up again so that he could move down Steve’s body, peppering urgent little kisses over his chest and stomach, grinning at the frenetic way Steve grabbed at him. He unfastened Steve’s belt, and tugged his pants down over his hips, Steve arching and writhing and doing everything he could to wriggle free of them.

And then, when Tony had stripped Steve completely, he put a firm hand to the centre of Steve’s chest, and told him,

“ _Hush_.”

Steve stilled immediately, coming to a somewhat tense rest against the bed. Tony felt a heat bloom up inside him, watching Steve pinned by a single word from him-

_He feels it too._

Tony took a moment to simply look at him, running his eyes over every perfect detail of Steve’s body – feeling as though he was looking at him for the first time.

His beautiful arms, so strong and safe, the fluid roll of muscle under flawless, soft skin.

The smooth expanses of his chest, the sweep and curve of his waist, the shape of his shoulders

…The flush of pink under the tender flesh

…The constellation of veins glowing right beneath the surface-

Tony felt his vision darken at the edges, all of his senses growing sharper and narrower, focused entirely on Steve. He recognised the ache that began to pulse in his jaw. He swallowed hard, a strangely familiar, rich, sweet taste…

And then he smiled.

He left Steve fixed under his last command and stepped off of the bed to finish undressing, watching Steve pant and writhe under his gaze the entire time. And then Tony reached over to grab the bottle of lube that was already waiting on one of the bedside tables – along with ice, and bottled water, and anything else that he’d thought Steve might conceivably need tonight.

He climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between Steve’s legs. And then he placed a gentle hand on Steve’s hip, and whispered,

“Relax, sweetheart.”

He felt Steve melt under his touch, like his body was responding directly. Tony stroked his hands down over Steve’s thighs, Steve’s legs falling further apart at the slightest suggestion, his head falling back against the sheets… baring his neck again…

 _Fuck_ , he was beautiful.

Tony kept his eyes fixed on Steve’s throat as he wet his fingers, and then ran them over Steve’s hole.

“Oh, Tony, please Tony, _ah-_ ” was swallowed up with a gasp as Tony pushed a fingertip inside him, and then a high pitched, pleading sound as Tony began to tease his rim. Tony poured more lube over his hand before pushing two fingers into him, slow and deep, watching Steve throw his head back further, balling the sheets into a fist.

He could feel Steve’s pulse, the heat of his blood-

“You’re perfect,” Tony growled, pushing into him again. “Every inch of you, look at you…”

Steve moaned again as Tony twisted his fingers, grinding down against his hand. Tony let the bottle of lube drop to the floor, bracing a firm palm against the inside of Steve’s thigh as he pushed a third finger into him.

“God Tony, yes, please yes,” Steve begged, as Tony started to move inside him with slow, deliberate thrusts. Tony watched, mesmerised, as Steve rolled up to meet his movement, his cock twitching against his stomach, his muscles tightening under Tony’s palm...

…Tony could feel every movement.

…Every connection, every vein… every nerve…

He didn’t break his rhythm as he shifted back just a little, so that he could lower his head and press a soft kiss to the inside of Steve’s thigh-

Finding that spot so easily,

Feeling it under his teeth.

And then he bit down, quick and clean.

“Oh, Tony, Jesus fuck, oh, oh God-” Steve babbled, clenching around Tony’s fingers, grabbing desperately at the back of Tony’s head-

But Tony had pulled back immediately, simply letting two thin trails of blood run over Steve’s skin, only the faintest trace of that taste on his tongue-

But _oh_ , that taste-

That smell-

That sound Steve made – _knowing_ how much Steve liked that-

Tony’s movements weren’t quite as controlled as he ran his tongue over the wound, healing it. He pushed his fingers into Steve shaper and shallower, an illicit thrill running up his spine as he felt the trickle of Steve’s blood running over his hand – as he pushed Steve’s own blood into him.

Tony could feel the beginnings of that euphoria clouding into his mind as he licked that beautiful taste from Steve’s skin. A warmth and brightness seeping into everything, like a sudden burst of sunlight.

He ran the flat of his tongue over Steve’s thigh, lapping the pool of blood from the crease of his groin, his other hand still holding Steve’s leg in a firm grip. Feeling that high building, that _desire_ -

“ _Tony-_ ” Steve begged, bucking against him, a sharp edge of urgency on his voice.

Tony felt Steve’s breath catch, as he ran his tongue the length of his cock, slowly-

He could feel the tension building in Steve’s hips, coming to a desperate, trembling breaking point as Tony took the head of his cock into his mouth-

And twisted his fingers inside him-

And pressed his other palm hard against the still-tender bite on Steve’s thigh-

Until, finally, Steve broke.

Tony heard Steve cry out sharply, his hips snapping up against Tony’s mouth, his hand stroking roughly over the back of Tony’s neck.

Tony swallowed, greedily, desperate for the taste of him – that euphoria blooming up in him again, momentarily overwhelming the hunger…

And then he felt Steve fall apart beneath him, collapsing into the sheets-

And Tony lifted his head, and looked at him-

And God, he wanted him.

Tony’s stomach twisted, his mouth watering and his muscles tensing towards Steve. For a moment, he was forced to hold himself completely still – having to gather his senses, and come back into himself, before he could trust his body to do anything at all-

Before he could think about how it even worked.

And then Steve looked up at him, his lips full and dark, his eyes impossibly blue…

Open, and relaxed, and…

_Ready_.

“Come here,” Tony smiled, snaking an arm under Steve’s back and pulling him onto his knees. Steve threw his arms around him, pulling Tony hard against his chest and breathing him in.

“I love you,” Steve whispered, overwhelmed and emotional.

“I love you,” Tony told him, stroking a hand over the side of Steve’s face, urging Steve to look at him before he carried on. “This is all because I love you, because there is so much about you to love. That’s where all this comes from, it’s the basis of all of this, it’s all that matters – you know that?”

And Steve just nodded, the sweetest little smile on his lips.

“I _know_ the commitment I’m making when I do this. I’m promising to love you and take care of you for the rest of your life. And I _want_ that, more than anything,” Tony promised, his growing desperation seeping into his tone, his hands curling tighter around Steve’s shoulders.

“I will love you and look after you for as long as I live,” Steve breathed, letting his forehead rest against Tony’s.

Tony smiled.

“Are you ready?” He whispered.

Steve nodded, enthusiastically.

“Yes,” he beamed. “Very, very ready.”

The grin melted into an awed sort of anticipation, as Tony placed the faintest touch to his jaw, tilting his head up.

Steve followed his movements so naturally, like they’d done this a thousand times before

…Like he already knew how this worked, just the same as Tony did.

Tony’s eyes immediately fell on the flutter of Steve’s pulse, like he was drawn to it.

He dropped his head and pressed his lips against Steve’s skin, Steve’s whole body tensing urgently in Tony’s hands as he traced his tongue over the vein…

Searching…

And he wasn’t sure _how_ he knew… but he knew. Like clicking into the right slot, that sudden feeling of rightness as he found that exact place-

And sank his teeth into Steve’s throat.

*

_Are you ready?_

There was a giddy surge of pure elation, as Steve felt all the things he’d never find the words for.

The love and passion he’d been dreaming of, all his life

The loneliness and longing that he’d felt for so long,

The deep, all-consuming desire that had been growing in him since… well, probably since he first laid eyes on Tony.

God, Steve was _so_ ready for this.

That gentle touch to his jaw had been like an electric shock, a command he followed automatically-

It felt right, when his head fell into position… _comfortable_ …

And then Tony kissed his throat again, setting every nerve in Steve’s body alight. His eyes watered at the intensity of it, his lip trembling as that moment shifted and stretched around him.

He was still warmed though and weak, the last tremors of his orgasm still echoing through his hips – entirely vulnerable to every sensation that ran through his softened limbs.

He could feel the velvet tug of Tony’s lips, searching along the vein in his neck.

The anticipation built up in his chest, pushing up against his ribs, until it was almost unbearable-

And then, at last, Tony bit down – _hard_.

The initial sensation was so intense, it was neither pleasure nor pain. It was a blinding, cleansing shock that shot right through to the bottom of his feet-

Steve fell apart, broken into fragments by the strength of that feeling, trusting Tony to take his weight. Tony didn’t flinch. He just held Steve close, his teeth held firm in his flesh…

Steve’s head swam, his vision sparkling as that first jolt spread out through his liquid muscles-

And then settled into a deep, throbbing _pleasure._

Steve heard himself whimper pitifully, as that heat rolled through him, the sensation pulsing through every fluid inch of him.

He could feel it building under his skin, like every beat of his heart was filling him up-

And then Tony pulled his teeth free in one swift, clean motion.

The feeling of release was dizzying, flooding straight to his head. The world exploded into white, and for a fraction of a second Steve thought he might actually pass out-

As everything came back into focus, the first thing Steve was aware of was the soft press of Tony’s lips against his neck…

The steel like strength of his arms…

The featherlight flick of his tongue-

And then that low, dragging pleasure, as Tony began to suck the blood from his throat.

Oh, this was so much better from the throat-

It was so much better now that they were bonded.

A deeper, more vivid feeling, like everything up until this point had just been foreplay-

It rushed up along his back, pulling a friction up from low in his hips, his neck and shoulders throbbing in time with his racing heart. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, hot and electric, teasing to the tip of every limb, touching every part of him.

There was a surge of release with every mouthful Tony took, a rush of elation, a feeling of total fulfilment and an immediate craving for more, all at once.

He heard a wet growl as Tony swallowed, a low, feral sound that Steve could feel deep in his groin.

Fuck, he loved that sound.

He loved the thought of Tony feeding from him, drawing strength from him – _enjoying_ him-

_That’s it baby, drink._

It built to a peak, a state of absolute and perfect bliss-

Steve had no idea how long he floated there, flooded through with this pleasure, completely balanced and content and…

_Good_

And then he felt the hot press of Tony’s tongue, flat against the bite, and an immediate rush of dizziness.

A sensitive shiver ran up the back of Steve’s neck, as Tony gently sealed the wound…

Time seemed to slow down, and stretch… The whole world faded further out of focus, as Steve was brought closer into himself… and Tony… the two of them together, still connected in this other, separate thing…

Oh, Steve felt weak. Giddy.

…Full.

He knew it didn’t make sense, but he didn’t feel drained – he felt as though something more substantial had rushed to fill the gap. Deeply and bodily satisfied-

Dazed,

Delirious

So, so happy.

And then Tony looked up at him.

His skin was flushed, a pretty blush glowing across his cheeks.

His lips were stained a rich claret red, slightly swollen, pursed into the promise of a smile.

His eyes were impossibly dark, pupils blow wide, the light catching on those inky black lashes.

_…Do you sparkle?_

“So, that’s a vampire thing…” Steve murmured, a dreamy smile spreading over his face.

Tony grinned like he knew exactly what Steve was talking about.

“Lie back, sweetheart,” Tony purred, as he guided Steve back against the sheets.

They felt so much softer against his skin now.

A giggle bubbled over Steve’s lips, completely unexpectedly.

And then Tony crawled over the top of him, and kissed his lips very softly. A comforting warmth closed around him, like a heavy blanket…

Instinctively, Steve snuggled into it, leaning into Tony, kissing him deeper-

Stroking his hands along Tony’s ribs, and pulling him tight against his chest-

_Closer. I want you closer._

He heard Tony hum a smile against his lips, shifting his weight so that he could mould his body against Steve.

Steve parted his legs, rolling his hips up into Tony, still just wanting to be _closer…_

Tony broke the kiss, his forehead still resting against Steve’s.

Steve could feel Tony’s cock, pressed hard against his hip. He could feel that intention coiling in Tony’s muscles. And then Tony moved against him, sending a low friction shivering up his back.

Steve could feel his strength rushing back to him, his excitement building along with it, riding the wave of it…

“ _Tony…”_ he whispered, as Tony moved back just slightly, one hand stroking Steve’s leg-

And then Tony pushed inside him in one smooth thrust, filling him completely.

Steve moaned, deep in his chest, as a swell of pleasure expanded through his body.

Everything was so _easy_ , so free and light. It was such a comfortable, simple pleasure –

Pure.

Steve melted against the sheets, letting it wash through him, soaking down into his bones. There was no resistance to it, no limit. He let himself stretch into it, his cock throbbing hard again as Tony began to move inside him.

“Oh, Tony…” he breathed, caressing his arms over Tony’s back again, pulling him in.

_Closer-_

Tony rocked into him harder, burying his head in Steve’s shoulder – his lips so close to that tender spot in Steve’s neck. Steve moaned again, a needier, more wanton sound this time.

“Steve,” Tony growled against Steve’s skin. A thousand sparks of searing heat trembled through him, that now-faded bite wound still sensitive-

And then Tony thrust into him, hard.

“ _Yes-”_ Steve barked, bucking his hips, grabbing at Tony’s hair-

And then Tony kissed him, rough and deep, _just there_ -

“Mm-hm-Tony, _Fuck-”_

Tony thrust into him again, sending another wave of sensation crashing into the first,

And again,

And again,

“ _Mine_ ,” Tony hissed, possessive and protective.

“Yours, _oh-”_ Steve was cut off by a shout, as Tony hit his prostate, sparking a more urgent pleasure in him.

“ _Mine_ ,” Tony whispered again, thrusting into him, hitting that same spot. “My beautiful Steve-”

And again,

And again,

Every time that pleasure burst a little brighter, burned a little hotter – left a sharper need in its wake. Steve could feel it building in parts of him that had never been touched, pulsing deep inside him, beneath all the barriers he’d ever put up-

_Close_

_So close-_

“Yours, God yours, only yours,” Steve pleaded, high pitched and desperate, grinding into him-

And then Tony lifted his head to look at him, and their eyes met-

And Steve came, _hard_.

His eyes fell shut, as a wave of relief crashed through him, washing everything else away-

For a few seconds, there was nothing but this deep, throbbing contentment. A warm feeling of comfort and rightness, pulling low in his hips.

And then a sudden, intense bloom of heat, as Tony buried himself inside him, moaning Steve’s name as he came..

There was a moment of heady, breathless silence, as time just floated around them both, separate from them.

Then Steve looked up again, and for a second it was just bright lights and shadows and the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. And then slowly, his vision cleared.

And then there was Tony.

“I love you,” Steve murmured, finding that his jaw was so much heavier than he was expecting.

“I love you,” Tony smiled back, his voice warm and rich and kind… And soft… growing softer… “It’s okay baby. Close your eyes.”

So, of course, Steve did as he was told…

And, of course, it was right.

*

Tony had decided that this was definitely his favourite part.

As indescribably wonderful as it was to finally drink from Steve, as intense as the euphoria was this time… Still, nothing compared to the sense of fulfilment, the pure joy, of looking after him afterwards.

The strangest sort of focus had gripped Tony, in the moments afterwards. He’d been so overwhelmed by elation and adrenaline, and the world had seemed so vivid and magical and _different_ – and yet his mind had felt so clear, so calm…. So, in control. Like being awake inside of a dream.

It was unlike any intoxication he’d ever experienced, even from drinking Steve’s blood-

But then, that made perfect sense. Everything made perfect sense.

It wasn’t simply an artificial confidence, a blood-induced _feeling_ that everything was okay. This was a genuine clarity, his mind moving more efficiently, without the mental clutter – this was him _working it out_.

And, amongst other things, Tony had figured out that Steve’s blood obviously did work like a drug. There was clearly _an effect_. A physical effect, a phycological effect, possibly even a supernatural effect – a direct reaction to whatever was in Steve’s blood, and whatever physical link they shared. And that could be a calming effect, or a euphoric effect, or a focusing effect-

Because, _obviously_ , it would depend on the circumstances.

Like any other drug, it impacted him differently depending on the mood he was in… on what other considerations he’d made…

It was meant for this.

This rush of affection, that cut through all of Tony’s inhibitions and made him feel happy and warm,

This burst of strength and energy, this sudden understanding of his own abilities,

This mental focus, this attention to detail-

It was all for Steve.

And, obviously, if Tony were to needlessly, _stupidly_ , send Steve away now – of course, all these effects would be very different. That rush of affection might become a feeling of loneliness, or get misdirected into other reckless acts. That burst of strength would just sit in him, growing frustrated and angry. That mental focus would be wasted on analysing a situation he shouldn’t be in.

Instead of which, all of that could be lavished on Steve – which meant that Tony could indulge in it himself.

He’d spent an hour sitting beside the bath, gently washing the blood from Steve’s skin, soothing his bruises with warm water and soft kisses. Watching the contented smile on Steve’s face as Tony caressed the washcloth over his skin, and washed the sticky heat from his hair. Whispering all those promises and endearments – trading the pressure of keeping them secret for the joy of watching Steve listen.

He’d wrapped Steve in cool, clean towels, then in a warm, soft robe, and then finally in fresh white sheets – a swell of pride and assurance rising up in Tony, every time Steve enjoyed one of those little details.

And, at last, he had Steve curled up against his chest, comfortable and happy and safe, his fingers tracing idly over Tony’s skin, his heart beating strong and slow-

Tony could _feel_ it.

“I’m _so_ happy,” Tony sighed – not for the first time this evening. Steve giggled, a joyous, contagious sound that Tony could feel humming through his own ribs.

Steve looked up at him, his eyes glinting under the light, a soft smile on his lips.

“Me too,” he slurred, sleepy and contented.

Tony ran a hand through Steve’s hair, bidding him to lie close again, immediately soothed by the weight of Steve against his body.

“It’s always going to be like this, now,” Tony promised. Wanting to reassure Steve that all the games were over with, that he’d _never_ send Steve away again, that he was done denying his connection to Steve and everything that came with it-

“Well, no, not always” Steve yawned, snuggling closer into Tony. “Sometimes I get to take care of you…”

Tony smiled.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s better.”


	26. Epilogue

Tony stood in front of the mirror, and straightened his collar for maybe the hundredth time. The skin on the back of his neck was starting to feel raw by now-

But he was just too nervous to keep his hands still.

He took a deep breath, and flinched his hands away, and told himself to calm down. He pointedly refused to indulge any thoughts about why he wasn’t up to this, or why he shouldn’t feel this way. Instead, he forcibly reminded himself,

_Think how far you’ve come, not how far you have left to go._

That piece of advice had come from Sam, originally – _which_ , Tony triumphantly noted, was one example of how far he’d come-

He’d actually invited Sam over to the house, not once but twice, and had a nice evening on both occasions.

And the reason he’d invited Sam over was because Bucky still came to visit him, or to hang out with he and Steve occasionally – and had gushed so enthusiastically about his new relationship that Tony had actually _wanted_ to meet the guy. And, okay, Tony wasn’t exactly an expert… but, from the outside, to him at least, that seemed an awful lot like how regular people made friends.

He might not have the _most_ sparkling social life… But at least he could say he had one, now. He had date nights with his boyfriend, he had people over for drinks occasionally – he even had a more social relationship with Rhodey and Pepper, now that he had something to talk about besides ‘how’s the company going?’ and ‘yes, I promise I’ll eat better’…

Now that he was actually putting some effort in to being the other half of an equal friendship with both of them…

Tony refused to dismiss the pang of guilt that came with that observation. He _did_ feel badly about the sort of friend he’d been for twenty years, and he kind of thought it was right that he felt a little bit bad about it – that he actually acknowledged his mistakes, and cared about them, and remained motivated to change…

But he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by it.

Tony refused to spiral into his past failures. He wouldn’t let his guilt stop him from correcting them. He _would_ acknowledge the things he’d achieved so far-

Because he knew he had to.

And he _was_ a better friend now than he’d ever been.

He did have a far better life than he’d ever thought possible.

He was already further ahead than he’d ever intended to go, just a few months earlier.

He even made a few of his own phone calls, these days.

_And you found the love of your life, and offered him your heart, and he said yes. You are bonded to the most wonderful man in the world._

So, that meant he could do _this_.

He sighed, and straightened his collar again-

And then froze, as that familiar warmth washed over his skin.

_He’s here._

Tony felt the tension leave his shoulders, as a wave of relief crashed through him. He broke into a broad smile and bounded out to the hall, talking the stairs three at a time and eventually coming to a skidding halt by the front door.

He opened it before Steve even knocked.

“Hi,” Steve beamed, full of hope and excitement, and maybe just a few nerves of his own. The burst of affection Tony felt for him was strong enough to push all of his concerns aside, at least for the moment.

“Hi,” Tony replied, breathlessly.

“…You ready?” Steve asked, his voice both brave and fragile. Tony smiled to himself. He wondered just how much had come down to the fact that he simply _couldn’t_ say no to that face.

“Yeah, I think so,” Tony nodded. And then he swallowed down a swell of nervousness and made a rash decision to _go for it._ Before he could second guess himself, or think too hard about it, he took Steve’s hand-

And stepped out of the house.

“So, where are we going?” He asked lightly, trying to stay in the moment. Fighting the temptation to catalogue all the things he could see and feel, or run away with _what if’s_.

_One thing at a time._

“Nowhere in particular,” Steve smiled, tugging Tony closer to him. “I was thinking we’d just go for a walk, tonight.”

Tony let his head rest on Steve’s shoulder for a moment, his thumb caressing over the back of Steve’s hand. Breathing in that familiar scent. Remembering that he was strong, and he was supposed to be here, and he was loved.

“Sounds perfect,” he nodded, and gestured to Steve, _lead the way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> As per usual, any suggestions for tags I've missed or need to amend would be gratefully received!  
> Also, for those of you that are interested, there will soon be a couple of one shots posted as sequels to this, set in this universe, as part of my 1k milestone celebration - so, if you'd like to see more from Vampire Tony and Consort Steve, watch this space :-)


	27. SUBSCRIBER NOTICE

Hey all - I'm still unsure if this is the correct fandom etiquette (and do feel free to let me know, if that's the case) But I'm told that subscribers to this fic wouldn't necessarily get a notification if it became a series, and another fic was added...

So, no new chapter - but this just became a series, and another fic got added 😁

There will also be other one shots as part of the 1k milestone event, but I figure people can subscribe to the series if they're interested in it, so I won't be adding a new chapter to this every time I add one 😂

I'll also probably delete this chapter once the notification has gone out to everyone. 

Enjoy!


End file.
